Like Brothers
by Colubrina
Summary: ABANDONED. Minerva McGonagall steps in on the awful night the Potter are killed and arranges to have Harry Potter raised by Sirius Black and his somewhat cousins, the Malfoys. Draco and Harry grow up as almost brothers and everything - everything - is different. Gryffindor!Draco. Dramione. AU. I WILL NEVER AGAIN UPDATE THIS.
1. Chapter 1

**~ Prologue ~**

 _Minerva McGonagall looked at the young couple standing in her office. She'd been head down over preparations for the Halloween Feast, always a problematic event that resulted in alcohol poisoning, dragging students out from behind bushes, and usually at least one assault. It was her least favorite school celebration but Dumbledore insisted on keeping it with sanctimonious noises about Samhaim and tradition and fun. How a party that was mostly about candy and purloined fire whiskey had anything to do with harvest festivals and the advent of the Horned God McGonagall had no idea but every suggestion that she add a bit of historical relevance to the curriculum was pooh-poohed._

 _She'd been thinking Halloween was going to be her trial for this week and thanking any of the old gods that were listening that at least the Marauders had graduated so things would be comparatively calm. Looking over the bloodstained children in front of her she knew Halloween and intoxicated teenagers were about to become the least of her worries._

 _The girl was covered in soot and dirt and blood and the boy – so pale and angular he was obviously a Malfoy though there weren't any Malfoys that age right now – was bleeding from a cut on his cheek of which he seemed unaware. He had his hand on the girl's shoulder, his finger cured into her as though she were afraid she might disappear._

" _Who are you?" Minerva asked. "Where are you from?"_

 _The girl closed her eyes. "The future," she whispered, and she began to tell a tale so fantastic Minerva didn't want to believe it. That wretched Voldemort pushed into non-corporeal form after an attack on the Potter baby only to rise again using arts so black Minerva though they had been lost. War. Another war, this time using children rather than adults so young they were merely almost children._

" _You realize that by telling me this you might have changed the future enough that you, as you are now, the product of all your experiences, might cease to exist," McGonagall said, wondering who had been so foolish as to give a teenager a time turner._

 _The girl looked at her. Her gaze had a steady maturity that McGonagall suspected had been put there by horrors beyond imagining. "We had to do it. If we could prevent war, we had to."_

" _You know I'll find you," the boy said, his voice raw and urgent. "No matter what universe we live in, I'll find you. If I could find you in this one, when blood prejudice and a war set us at one another's throats, I'll find you in a peaceful one."_

" _Don't forget about Sirius Black," the girl begged her and McGonagall watched, horrified, as the pair began to fade away. She saw the Dark Mark, long healed, burned into the boy's arm and shuddered._

 _Still, she didn't believe them. Not really. Not until Halloween night when Dumbledore came and got her from the school party, pulling her away from where she'd been scolding two Hufflepuffs that she'd found behind a pillar doing something guaranteed to cause yeast infections with cotton candy. When she saw Lily Potter's body, however, fallen to the floor of the nursery where her baby still sat in his crib, wailing, she believed._

 _When Dumbledore said he was going to take the baby to his aunt, some Muggle named Petunia, McGonagall put her foot down. "You can't just leave a baby on some woman's doorstep, Albus," she said. "I know this is a shock and you might not be thinking straight, but Lily was estranged from her family; surely you remember that. They cast her out because she's a witch. We'll check the Potter's will and see who they wanted young Harry to go to."_

" _Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. "The very friend who betrayed them."_

" _Sirius?" McGonagall stared at him. "Don't be absurd. That boy was irresponsible, headstrong, and a menace but he would never_ ever _have betrayed anyone to Voldemort, much less James Potter. They were like brothers."_

" _People do betray their brothers, Minerva," Dumbledore said, reaching for the baby._

 _She pulled the child out of his reach and said, with a snort, "Then the next option would be the Malfoys. Dorea Potter was a Black and that makes this child some sort of cousin of Narcissa's. I can owl her in the morning."_

" _Minerva," Dumbledore said, his voice laced with authority and warning._

 _She, however, was unmoved. "Don't 'Minerva' me, Albus. I'm not letting you leave this child on the doorstep of a bunch of Muggles. Do you plan to see to freeing Sirius Black from this absurd charge you seem to have laid at his feet or do I have to do that too?"_

 _She did owl Narcissa Malfoy, though Dumbledore backed down from his plan to leave James and Lily Potter's child with Muggles._

" _What was he thinking?" Narcissa agreed as the two women sat in Minerva's office and looked down at the baby in a basket on the floor, sleeping peacefully now. "Accidental magic is bad enough when the parents know what to expect. Muggles who you tell me are horrified of anything unusual? It would be a disaster. This is how Muggle-born children end up abused."_

" _Sirius will need your help," Minerva said. "I'm not even sure that man can take care of himself, much less raise a boy."_

" _Draco is the same age," Narcissa said softly, still looking at the boy. "Walburga and Druella and all that lot are gone now; there's no need to humor their banishment of Sirius. We can bring Sirius back into the family, raise the two children to be as close as brothers." She sipped from her tea. "But I'll need Lucius' help. Boys… they need a father's influence."_

 _McGonagall looked at the petite woman and heard the trade she was offering; she added a condition of her own. "I suspect I'll need his help too."_

" _That," Narcissa said, "can be arranged."_


	2. Chapter 2

"Mine!" Draco grabbed the toy broom away from Harry's hands, eliciting a wail of fury and a vigorous smack.

"Mine!" Harry retorted and, snatching the broom back, ran away as fast as his little legs could take him. Draco took off after him and tackled him and the two rolled in the grass, shrieking and giggling with equal volume. Harry finally got possession of the broom, sat on it, and tried to fly away. Unfortunately for Harry, not only did Draco run considerably faster than the child's broom flew, the broom wouldn't get higher than two feet off the ground. Draco quickly pushed the other boy over, grabbed the broom, and took off, this time with Harry in pursuit.

"Boys," Lucius said in a tone of utter, indulgent pleasure.

"They will be boys?" Narcissa asked archly as she poured herself another glass of the iced and fruited wine.

"You object?" Sirius asked her.

The three of them were sitting out on the stone patio that stretched along this part of the back side of the Manor and watching the two boys, the one blond and the other with hair so dark it was nearly black, as they chased after one another on the lawn. A pair of nannies sat closer to the boys, their prim uniforms a starched indication of their opinions on rambunctious children. Late afternoons at the Manor had become a summer tradition, just as winter days often found the boys running through the halls of Grimmauld Place while Narcissa shopped in London. Child-proofing floos against bright boys who genuinely believed they each had two houses of their own and didn't understand why they couldn't just pop over from one to the other was an ongoing struggle. Sirius had fought against the intrusion of a nanny until he'd found Harry climbing stairs on the outside of the bannister and jumping down to the floor below.

"I swear," he'd muttered to Narcissa, "the boy has a death wish."

She'd just handed him the card to the nanny agency without saying a word and Miss Abbott had started the next day.

"Don't like her," Harry had said, face screwed up into an adorable but petulant pout.

"Why?" Sirius had asked.

"Makes me eat carrots," Harry had said, his tone suggesting this was the ultimate indignity.

"Sirius," Narcissa asked now. "Where's Remus?"

"He begged off, as usual" Sirius said. "Seems to think you have a problem with his furry problem."

"Astute of him," Lucius said in a cold drawl.

"Says the man who has the 'I'm an idiot' brand on his arm," Sirius said, leaning back and making at best a pro-forma sneer at his host. He and Lucius had long since come to a cessation of any real hostilities.

"As I recall, your brother had the Mark," Lucius said.

"Reg was also an idiot," Sirius agreed. "He bought into your pureblood dogma as if it would save his life." He took a drink of the very non-fruity fire whiskey in his tumbler. He didn't care for Narcissa's sangria. "It didn't, of course."

"Muggle-borns are a problem," Lucius opined.

"Like Lily?" Sirius nearly growled.

"She was an exceptional witch," Lucius said, dismissing her as an outlier with a wave of his hand. "Brilliant, and, more to the point, willing to leave her Muggle world behind." He eyed Sirius. "I didn't see you eager to leave Harry with his aunt even though the woman was his closest living relative. Dumbledore sat there and bleated about blood wards and protections against the inevitable rise of the Dark Lord - "

"Voldemort," Sirius said, his tone implacable. "The man wasn't a god. We can call him by his name without being struck down."

"Says the mutt who wasn't treated to the sight of torture whenever anyone slipped up and called said Lord by his name."

"His pretentious, made up name," Sirius said.

"My point," Lucius stressed, "is that you don't like Muggles any more than I do or you wouldn't have fought so hard to raise Harry."

"It was what James and Lily wanted," Sirius said, turning away to watch the boys who were now pegging a small ball at one another's heads, broom forgotten, and were laughing hysterically whenever one of them caught, or failed to catch, the missile.

"Not many bachelors would have done it," Lucius said. "You were a wild one, Sirius, and now you're a father even though there was a ready made family waiting to take the boy. You put the motorbike away and took on nappies and bottles and formula. You even made up to that crazy house elf of yours. You really didn't want that boy living with those Muggles."

"Have you ever met Petunia Dursley?" Sirius asked, still watching the pair on the lawn. When Lucius didn't respond he added, "No one would give that woman a magical child. She hated Lily, was jealous of her, and went out and found the least magical husband she could as if to spite them both. I think that man could almost negate magic by his very existence. He certainly negates wonder and joy."

"I went and observed them one day," Narcissa said. "Sirius is quite right. It's as if they live to reinforce stereotypes about Muggles." She took a sip of her fruited wine; Narcissa was always happy to import Muggle customs that she liked like sangria, shoes and quite a bit of fashion. "They do have a nice lawn, however. I'm impressed the Muggles can manage it without magic."

If Lucius didn't spit at the word 'Muggles' it was only because a lifetime of courtesy kept his response to a sneer. "That anyone would have considered letting Dorea Black's grandson be raised by Muggles offends me," Lucius said. "Even if he is a half-blood."

Narcissa coughed delicately into her hand and Lucius looked at her. "We're members of the Order of the Phoenix now, Lucius, even if other than dear Minerva and Sirius none of them know it. Try to remember that we support the rights of Half Bloods and Muggle-borns if you can."

"You aren't implying my foster-son is somehow less than Draco, are you?" Sirius demanded.

Lucius made a face. "Oh, Harry," he said. "I have to admit that Harry is exceptional. Everyone knows that. The Chosen One and all. And we're all raising him properly. He's known his place in the world since he could walk. He and Draco are - "

"Crying," Narcissa said. "He and Draco are crying."

And indeed they were. Both boys had come running up and were telling some complicated tale about garden gnomes stealing their ball and how it wasn't fair."

"You gave it to them," Draco said, his grey eyes overflowing with tears. "It's all your fault."

"I thought they'd give it back," Harry wailed. Grimmauld Place didn't have gnomes; it had, instead, a house-elf who, once he'd realized Harry was Dorea's grandson, had announced that Harry was his person and had begun a campaign of indulgence that made even Sirius look strict.

Sirius picked up a napkin and transfigured it to a replacement ball that he tossed to Harry as Lucius lifted the sniffling Draco onto his lap. "Garden gnomes can be tricky," he said, his tone very serious. "They once took apart my entire playhouse."

"You had a playhouse?" Sirius scoffed.

"Yes, indeed," Lucius said. "And it had a turret where I could watch out for dragons and a green and silver flag." He gave Narcissa a conspiratorial look. "I've always wanted to have that rebuilt. What do you think, dear?"

"I think," she said, "that this would be a great summer to do that. You boys could go draw pictures of what you think it should look like so we can make sure the contractors build it properly."

Harry frowned as he hefted the new ball in his hand. "Drawing?" he asked, doubt evident in his tone. Harry didn't care for anything that supplanted flying and catch.

"It needs a moat," Draco said, already latching on to the idea of his very own playhouse. "For the otters."

"Otters?" Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow at Narcissa.

"He's always been fascinated by otters," she said with a delicate shrug. "Tends to insist they're all his but, whenever we get him a stuffed one, he starts to cry and insists it's not right."

"Kids," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes as both boys went off to draw this playhouse with a moat. "They latch onto the weirdest ideas."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Just look at them" Narcissa said a bit later. The boys had sprawled out across the stones of the patio and had large sheets of white paper in front of them and pots of colored paint arranged in a neat row.

Miss Abbott had helped with that part. Neatness was very important to her.

"A pair of future Slytherin princes," Lucius said. "They'll lead our House to Quidditich domination."

"And get excellent marks," Narcissa said.

Sirius coughed. "You really think Harry's going to be sorted into Slytherin?" he asked. "James' son? _Lily's_ son? He's a Gryffindor through and through. The moment I caught him jumping off the stairs I knew he had a streak of bravery that would put him into red and gold."

"All boys do that," Lucius said. "I've found Draco jumping off the banister too. That doesn't mean he's got more daring than sense; it just means he's a boy."

Narcissa smiled, a somewhat enigmatic expression. "I think we'll all be a bit surprised when the Sorting Hat does its magic," she said. "But the boys will be princes whether they're in silver or gold."

Lucius looked at his wife. "What," he asked with careful deliberation, "Do you know?"

She glanced over at the boys. "I know someone will be out here tomorrow morning applying cleaning charms to these stones," she said. Lucius turned and groaned. Harry had tipped over one of the paint pots and was spreading the red paint along the stones with careful attention to detail.

"At least it's paint," Lucius said. "Last time – "

"I know," Narcissa said.

"How long do we have?" he asked.

Sirius leaned forward, drinks and quibbles about future Houses forgotten. "If the timeline remains relatively intact, until their fifth year," Narcissa said, her eyes on the boys.

"About ten more years, then," Sirius said, his voice hard. "And Dumbledore is still up there playing chess with people's lives."

Sirius had never forgiven Dumbledore for planning to let him go to Azkaban without a trial.

"Blood wards," he spit out now. "Such utter bullshite. And Snape teaching at Hogwarts."

"Well, Snape did turn traitor, or so Dumbledore claims," Narcissa said. "Rejecting Voldemort and working for the Light and all." She took another sip of her drink as she watched Harry continue to push the red paint around the stones.

"Do you believe that?" Sirius asked with a sneer. "Snivellus would never do anything other that try to preserve his own skin." He glanced at Lucius and added, "A model Slytherin."

"Self-preservation is hardly a sin, Sirius," Lucius said. "I realize your mother was a tad extreme – "

"I assume we are now using 'a tad extreme' as a Britishism for 'batshite crazy'?" Sirius asked.

" – but I do wish you'd not judge all of us by Severus or Walburga."

Sirius sagged back in his seat and regarded his cousin. "Oh, you're all right, Cissa," he admitted. "And your husband is surprisingly palatable." He smirked. "And Andromeda."

Narcissa's smile became tight. "She continues to choose not to see us," she said.

"Really?" Sirius needled. "I can't imagine why she'd be resentful."

"I was very young," Narcissa said, "and I had no reason to defy my parents."

"And now you do," Sirius said.

Narcissa's eyes never moved from the boys. Harry had added some blue to his red paint and was swirling it in to make a muddy purple but Draco was bent over his paper and drawing a castle with immense care, his tongue stuck out as he concentrated. "Now I do," she said, "and not just my parents. I'll defy the whole world for that boy if I have to."

Lucius reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "As will I," he said. "No one is going to brand our son. No one is going to threaten him. Not even the Dark L… not even Voldemort."

. . . . . . . . . .

Helen Granger looked at stuffed dragon floating in the air in front of her daughter. "Honey," she said, "What are you doing?"

"Dragons love to fly," the girl said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. "So he's flying."

Helen blinked a few times. She hadn't ever raised a child before but she was fairly sure that most of them were unable to suspend their toys in midair.

"I think," she said slowly, "that maybe you shouldn't let anyone but me see you make your dragon fly."

"Because no one else can do it," Hermione said.

"That's right," Helen said. She paused and then, wanting to change the subject, asked "What's your dragon's name?"

"Dragon," the girl said.

"Just 'Dragon'?" Helen asked, surprised. Hermione usually gave her stuffed toys elaborate names. The horse was, 'Brown Spotted Sleek Clover' and the cat was 'Fluffy Kitty Princess Girl'. "Why just 'Dragon'?"

"Because that's his name," Hermione said. Dragon settled to the ground and the girl stood up, toy apparently forgotten. "I'm going to go draw now. Can I have juice?"

"No," Helen said automatically. "Juice rots your teeth

. . . . . . . . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Narcissa knocked on the door of Grimmauld Place and, when no one answered, opened it with a roll of her eyes. "Sirius," she called once she'd stepped inside.

"He's still in the shower," came a voice from the kitchen. She gave a disgruntled look to the curtained portrait of Walburga – she really couldn't believe no one had found a way to undo that permanent sticking charm yet – and made her way to the surprisingly inviting space. When Walburga had held sway over the house, no one would have been so plebian as to lounge at the large table in the kitchen. The kitchen was for the help. Now Harry was there devouring what appeared, from what remained, to have once been a large plate of eggs.

"Harry," she said, running a hand through his hair. No matter what she did she couldn't get this child's hair to behave. She smiled at how different the boys could be in that regard. Draco at ten had taken to hair gel with an enthusiasm that bordered on obsessive and she hadn't the heart to tell him he was overdoing it. Harry, meanwhile, might have benefited from a slight increase in his concern over his appearance.

"Hi, Mum," he said around the last mouthful of eggs.

She sighed. "Harry, what have I told you about talking with your mouth full?"

He swallowed. "Sorry, Mum." He slid out of his seat and, after taking the plate to the sink and dropping it in, he yelled up, "Dad! Mum's here!"

"Shite!" drifted down from upstairs. "I thought she wasn't going to be here until ten. Tell her I'm naked, would you?"

Harry looked at Narcissa Malfoy who was successfully controlling her urge to laugh thanks to the training she'd received at the hands of her own mother. "Sirius is naked," Harry said without batting an eye. "He'll be down in a sec once he puts some clothes on."

"Where's Remus?" Narcissa asked, settling herself at the table. Kreacher had a cup of tea in front of her before she'd even tucked her handbag under her seat. "Thank you," she said to the elf before she took a sip. The tea was, of course, perfect. Walburga hadn't tolerated any kind of failure from her magical staff, as the long discarded elf heads the woman had mounted on her wall had warned.

Walburga had had an appalling sense of what one should do in so many ways. It had taken Narcissa a good two years to get this place looking like normal people lived here instead of Dark Arts obsessed psychotics. As she'd tossed ugly snake decoration after ugly snake decoration away she'd taken to muttering a variety of imprecations that had made Sirius laugh until he cried.

"Did your mother know you had such a vocabulary?" he'd asked.

Narcissa had just glared at him as she held up a glass globe with a dead pixie inside it. "Who thinks this is something to put out on the mantle?" she'd demanded. "Who?"

The obvious answer, of course, was Walburga. It was, Narcissa mused to herself as she sat sipping her tea and waiting for Sirius to get dressed, not well done to think ill of the dead, but sometimes it was hard to think anything charitable about that woman. She shook her head slightly as if to clear her opinions about her aunt away and turned back to Harry. "Remus," she prompted him.

"It was a full moon last night," Harry said. "He's probably still asleep."

Narcissa nodded. To her mind, the best thing about having Remus living here was that his presence kept Sirius in check. Without the werewolf to consider, Sirius would probably have had a different girl in here every week and that would not have been good for Harry. She would have had to say something about that. As it was, she just made sure Remus had a steady supply of wolfsbane and chocolate and considered the problem of Sirius' promiscuity managed.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked, slouching back to his seat.

Narcissa took a sip of her tea before answering. "Late," she said at last. "It seems he threw a pillow at Dobby and refused to get up and I told him to floo over once he'd managed to develop some self-control."

"So he's not coming with us then, I take it?" Sirius asked from the doorway, dressed if still barefoot, and Narcissa laughed.

"Good morning, Sirius," she said.

"Narcissa," he grinned at her. "I see Kreacher has already gotten you tea so I'm spared having to play the host."

"Do not take Sirius as your model for manners," Narcissa advised Harry.

"Harry!"

"The floo is yelling," Sirius observed just as a missile came out of the fireplace. Harry caught it and waited until Draco stepped through and then pegged it back at the other boy as hard as he could.

"Git!" Draco complained as the ball slammed into his arm.

"You started it," Harry said. "I saved you some bacon."

"Where?" Draco asked.

"Counter."

Draco bounded over the counter and began shoving strips of cold bacon into his mouth from the platter as Kreacher wrung his hands in the corner and wailed. "Young Master Black, I can make more. That is cold. Stop! I can make more!"

"It's fine, Kreacher," Draco said, barely stopping to chew. "None of the elves at the Manor cook like you do."

"I never thought I'd say this," Sirius said as he regarded the two boys, "but I miss the nannies. That tutor you hired doesn't seem to have the quite the same level of control."

"You could try controlling Harry yourself," Narcissa pointed out. "You are the parent."

Sirius snorted at that but made a perfunctory effort to plaster Harry's hair down before he gave up. "Where are your glasses?" he asked.

"Dad," Harry whined. "I hate them."

"And you can't see without them," Narcissa said in a tone of utter finality. "You can have your eyes magically fixed when you're an adult and the myopia has stabilized. Until then, it's glasses for you."

Harry slunk out of the room muttering things about unfair and he could see just fine. Sirius sighed. "Kreacher," he said, "would you mind finding Harry his glasses? I'm pretty sure he can't see well enough to find the blasted things if they aren't on his nightstand."

Kreacher made predictable noises about what an honor it was to help young Master Black-Potter-Potter-Black and disappeared with a loud pop. Sirius muttered something and, at Narcissa's inquisitive cough, said, "I think I liked him better when he just skulked about scowling and talking about how much he missed my mother."

Narcissa laughed. "You did not," she said. "You hated him." She looked over at Draco. "Be sure to wash your hands when you're done, Draco. We're going clothes shopping and I don't want you to get bacon grease all over Madame Malkin's robes."

"Yes, Mum," Draco said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"In the sink," she said. "With water. And soap."

"Yes, Mum," he muttered again as he moved to the tap and began following her instructions.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Sirius said as he lounged against the counter. "I really am capable of taking the boy out and buying him clothes."

Narcissa smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, cuz," she said. "I'll make sure to have all of Harry's things put on your account."

Sirius looked a little blank. "How much can one ten-year-old boy need?" he asked. "It's not like we have to get them stuff for Hogwarts yet."

"Sirius," Narcissa said. "He's grown out of everything. You can't have him wandering about in whatever awful, oversized cast-offs he finds in the attic."

"You know best," Sirius said. "Just… let me get him the broom, okay?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "What do you have in mind? I'm sure I can get whatever it is when we're out."

"One step better than whatever Lucius gets Draco," Sirius said, grinning at her.

She made an exasperated noise and, when Draco looked up, pointed to the door. "Out," she said. "All small boys need to be outside the door and ready to go."

"You aren't going to make us walk?" Draco asked in horror. "Through Muggle London? What if I catch something?"

"Then you will take potions and learn to keep your hands in your pockets instead of touching things," Narcissa said. "A brisk walk is good for the soul." She called up the stairs, "Harry, if you do not get down here this instant, I will not take you for ice cream when we're done."

Harry bounded down the stairs two at a time. "Sorry," he said unrepentantly. "I was looking at a Quidditch book."

"She's making us walk," Draco informed Harry.

"Why?" Harry asked in dismay. "We could just – "

"Walk," Narcissa said. She looked back at Sirius. "Still want to come?"

He rolled his eyes. "That's okay. You all have fun now."

Narcissa pulled a list out of her bag as she walked out and away; she began to read it out loud as both boys literally dragged their feet, scuffing the toes of their Muggle trainers along the sidewalk as they trailed after her grumbling about having to walk and why couldn't they just take the floo because they were wizards after all and it just wasn't fair.

She ignored them both.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione piled another book onto the stack her mother was holding. "Hermione," her mother said. "That's enough. I told you that you needed to start using the library more."

"I just like them more when they're mine," the girl said, pulling another book off the shelf and looking at it.

"Your book habit is going to drive us to the poorhouse," Helen Granger said, but the fond tone belied the complaint. It was obvious to anyone watching the pair that she was more than happy to indulge her daughter's love of reading. "Really, Hermione?" she said as she caught sight of the book in her daughter's hand. "You already have a copy of _Matilda_."

"I know," Hermione said, "but it's falling apart. Can't I get another one? Please?"

Helen sighed and Hermione added the book to the pile, stopping for a moment to look out the window. "What is it?" Helen asked.

"It's nothing," Hermione said, adding one more book to the pile. "I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Helen nodded and didn't mention that, as her beloved daughter had trouble making friends, anyone she saw she thought she knew was likely to have been unpleasant to her in primary. She had sat through any number of meetings with the girl's teachers. "She's very bright," they'd all assured her, as if Helen didn't know that. "She's just a little young for her age. Immature. Awkward. She'll grow out of it."

"She doesn't have any friends," Helen wanted to say. She wanted to shake all the little brats who made fun of Hermione for her books and her eagerness to learn and somehow make those children like her daughter. She didn't know how to suggest, even gently, that Hermione consider toning it down just a little. "You don't have to answer every question the teacher asks," she'd said once, but Hermione had screwed up her face in confusion. "Why would they ask they question if they didn't want me to answer it?" she'd asked.

Helen had given up and hoped that the teachers were right and age would bring some kind of wisdom. Now she looked at the last title her daughter had picked out. " _Dragonflight_?" she asked. "Are you ever going to grow out of your fascination with dragons?"

Hermione shrugged and made a show of looking at her watch. "I have ballet in 45 minutes, Mum. Can we get these and get over to the studio?"

Helen sighed. "All right, sweetheart," she said. "Have you practiced your piano yet today?"

"No," Hermione said. Her tone suggested she was not as fond of piano as she was of reading.

"Then you can do that after ballet and before you start this new dragon book, understand?"

"Yes, Mum."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco had been dragging his feet the entire walk and Narcissa had moved from amused to annoyed to about ready to tell him to stop being such a little brat. "Draco," she said, "Pick up the pace. We do have to get this done; we have dinner tonight at the Nott's."

"Do I have to go?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Narcissa said, giving him a look he'd learned not to question.

Draco was about to respond when he suddenly stopped in front of a Muggle bookshop.

"What is it?" Narcissa asked. She was easily several feet ahead of him by the time she realized he'd stopped walking and she had to raise her voice a bit.

He frowned for a moment and then shook his head. "It's nothing, Mum. I just thought I saw someone I knew."

"In a Muggle shop?" Harry asked, snickering. "You? Not blo… not likely."

"I know," Draco said and ran the few steps to catch up with his mother. "Sorry I'm being such a git today, Mum," he said, leaning his head up against her for a moment. "I love you."

Narcissa wrapped her arm around this boy and held onto him for a moment. Her eyes caught on his pale, unmarked forearm and she clutched at him a little harder before she released him. "I love you too, Draco," she said.

"What am I?" Harry demanded. "Chopped liver?"

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Thank you to Shayalonnie, who I coerced into beta reading this chapter.**_

 _ **Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey entered my life in fifth grade, a year later in life than Hermione is here, but she is precocious. I should order new copies as mine are long since lost.**_

 _ **I am overwhelmed by the response to this. Truly, genuinely overwhelmed. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.**_


	4. Chapter 4

"Dad."

Sirius looked up. If he'd learned one thing about parenting it was that that tone never led to good conversations. Harry was standing in the doorway of what had once been Walburga Black's formal parlour and was now a fairly good, albeit much too clean, replica of a pub, complete with pool table and a dart board hung in the middle of the Black family tapestry. The boy had thrust out his lower lip but the pout looked more nervous than sulky.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"Can you talk to snakes?"

Sirius could feel his eyes slide, against his will, to the scar on the boy's forehead but all he did was sigh and say, "Come sit down, Harry."

"So, that means no," Harry said, still hovering by the door.

"Sit." Sirius pointed to the chair opposite his and, reluctantly, Harry slunk across the room and threw himself into the brown leather, his eyes fixed on his feet. "Do you remember how your mum and dad died?"

"Hard to forget," Harry muttered, "What with the articles every year in the paper on the anniversary and the way people try to shake my hand wherever we go, like I had anything to do with that bastard's death."

"Language," Sirius said, feeling like an utter hypocrite even as the word came out of his mouth. "And I thought between Narcissa, Lucius, and I we did a good job of keeping people away from you."

"You do," Harry admitted, "but they still stare and when I was out with Mum this morning some guy cornered me in the loo and hugged me before I could get away."

"Fuck," Sirius said. No matter how hard they tried they couldn't keep the boy totally protected from his would-be fans. Lucius had threatened to buy and shut down the _Prophet_ if they ever tried to run a story on Harry himself but that didn't stop the pieces about Lily and James that appeared every Halloween. Apparently, they couldn't even keep strangers from accosting the boy as soon as he was out of sight of one of his guardians.

"Language," Harry said, a glint of amusement in his eye.

"Brat," Sirius said, and then sighed. "No, Harry, I can't talk to snakes. Almost no one can."

" _He_ could, couldn't he?"

Sirius nodded.

"Does that mean I'm like him?"

"No!" The word exploded out of Sirius. "No. He was a fucking monster, Harry. He killed your parents, my best friends; he ruined my brother. He turned your other dad into a near slave with the Imperious Curse. And, yes, he could talk to snakes. But he didn't have friends. He didn't have anyone he loved. He didn't have a brother like Draco who he got into so much bloody trouble with – and don't think I don't know about those magazines in Draco's castle – he was… he was nothing. He was darkness and evil and… and you are _nothing_ like that. You are a great kid who happens to have a weird talent."

"A talent only monsters have," Harry said, his eyes still down.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair and thought for a moment before he tried again. "Is Remus a monster?" he finally asked.

"No," Harry said, looking up. "Of course not! How can you – "

"A lot of people think he is," Sirius said, his voice soft now. "He turns into a wolf, something he didn't ask for and something he can't turn off, so he must be a monster."

"Remus alphabetizes the spice rack," Harry muttered.

"And you need to get ready to go over to the Nott's," Sirius said.

"I don't like that I can do this," Harry said.

Sirius sighed. "I'm not thrilled either, kiddo," he said. "People are going to make nasty judgments the same way they do about Remus and it's not fair but we handle your nutty fans and we'll handle this." He tipped his head to the side. "What do snakes talk about, anyway?"

"Nothing interesting," Harry said. "Nothing worth being a monster to be able to hear."

"You aren't a monster," Sirius said as firmly as he could. "Now go put on one of the things Narcissa bought you so we can pretend I'm a responsible parent and am sending you over to that dinner looking like a proper Potter."

"So… the Muggle trainers then?" Harry asked as he stood up.

"Narcissa would kill me," Sirius said. "It's bad enough, in her mind, that you two wear those things in public, but at the Nott's? She'd kill me in pieces. So, please, no."

Harry laughed at that and headed off up the stairs. Sirius looked after him then got up and loped into the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" Remus asked.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked as he perched on the table and watched his housemate fiddle with pans and milk at the stove.

"Making hot chocolate," Remus said. "Want one?"

"Only if you add something alcoholic," Sirius muttered.

Remus turned the heat down and leaned up against the counter while he waited for the sugar to dissolve. "Something up with Harry?"

"He can understand snakes." Sirius said the words with no inflection in his voice.

"Shite," Remus said.

"And he thinks that makes him a monster," Sirius added. "Or he's afraid it does."

Remus turned back to his pan and stirred the chocolate. "Hand me the brandy," he said. "I think I want some too."

"I thought this parenting thing would get easier," Sirius said as he fetched the brandy from a cupboard. "I mean, the nappies bit was not fun – "

"Understatement." Remus didn't turn, just kept stirring.

" – and there were those years we were terrified he'd fall down the stairs by accident, and he's been a terror on little brooms since forever, but I thought it would get easier when he got older."

"I don't think that's the way it works," Remus said. "I think it just keeps getting harder. Next up: girls."

"Better girls than Voldemort," Sirius said.

"Who, I can only assume, is also coming," Remus said.

"At least I can give him advice about girls," Sirius said.

"How to get 'round girls, maybe," Remus said as he poured the cocoa into mugs and added a splash of brandy to each one. "That might be bad advice. Do we really want another version of you running around Hogwarts, collecting knickers and broken hearts?"

Sirius took the mug Remus handed him and shrugged. "At least it's something. All I had today was, 'No, you're not a monster.' That doesn't seem good enough." He eyed Remus. "It was never good enough for you."

Remus drank his cocoa and didn't say anything to that.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione sat on her bed and pulled her knees up. She sat Dragon on top of them and looked at his worn face. "I wish," she said, and then stopped. She swallowed a few times and then said, "I wish there were other kids like me." Her voice was just a whisper but she knew Dragon heard her anyway. "No one else can… do things. And I don't do them on purpose but… and no one likes me." She took a hand and batted at the tear before it ran all the way into her mouth. "I just wish I were normal."

. . . . . . . . . .

When Harry presented himself at the Malfoy's in preparation for dinner with Thoros and Theodore Nott he was sent straight up to Draco's room. "Would you go see if he's actually dressed yet, dear?" Narcissa asked. Harry bounced up the stairs of the sweeping, main staircase, down the hall, and finally pounded on Draco's door.

"What?"

"Are you dressed?"

Draco opened the door and glared at Harry. "Did my mother send you up here?"

"Yes," he said, pushing his way into the room and flinging himself on the bed. "Are you ready to go yet."

Draco scooped up what was clearly not his first dollop of hair gel and plopped it on his head and began working it through with a comb. "No," he said.

"Well, could you be? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave."

"I like Theo," Draco said, stopping his comb for a moment as it caught on two strands of hair already glued together.

"I like Theo too," Harry said, reaching over to grab one of Draco's otters off the shelf. "But his dad always gives me the creeps."

"Yeah," Draco said, "Me too." He watched Harry toss the stuffed creature from one hand to the other for a moment and then said, his tone a little snappish, "Would you put that back?

"Why do you even have all these?" Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. "I just liked otters when I was little."

"So get rid of them now," Harry said.

Draco eyed his collection and finally said, "No."

. . . . . . . . . .

The three boys slipped away from the adults as quickly – or perhaps somewhat more so – as it was polite to do so. Narcissa watched them run off, brooms in hand, with a smile on her face. "Time passes," she said, bringing her wine glass to her lips. "Next year it's off to Hogwarts for all three of them."

Thoros Nott nodded, his eyes also following the three. "Do you worry, Lucius, what will happen if our Lord returns?"

"Worry?" Lucius cocked an eyebrow up. "What do you mean?"

"You've taken the boy who killed him – or nearly – right into your family. The Dark Lord might not be understanding of that choice."

Lucius turned in his seat to watch the three boys himself. They were flying now, darting back and forth across the substantial park that Thoros maintained. Periodically one of the boys would plunge toward the ground, seeing how close he dared to go before he pulled up. Lucius remembered doing the same thing at their age and his lips quirked up in a smile before he returned his attention to his host. "You'd have rather the boy be raised by Muggles?" he asked. "That was Dumbledore's plan, you know. It's what would have happened if Narcissa hadn't stepped in."

"Offensive notion," the woman said. "The boy may be a half-blood but half of that blood comes from good wizarding stock. You can't let him rot with Muggles." Her lips curled at the last word.

"And, somewhat less sentimentally," Lucius said, "leaving him with his Muggle family would have turned the boy into Dumbledore's pawn."

"And now he's yours," Thoros said.

"And now he's mine," Lucius agreed. "Quite for the best, don't you agree?" He sipped his wine and smiled at his host.

"Did they ever find out who betrayed his parents to our Lord?" Thoros asked.

"No," Lucius shook his head. "It remains a bit of a mystery. Sirius says he wasn't the secret keeper for their cottage, that he has no idea who they finally chose. Whoever it was, well, he was surely the culprit. Slaughtered the fourth little member of their tiresome group, what was his name, love?"

"Peter?" Narcissa asked with a delicate wrinkle of her nose.

"Yes," Lucius said. "That's the one. Killed him, left only his finger. Plus some unfortunate group of Muggles but…." Lucius shrugged, clearly indifferent to the fates of the non-magical.

"Could you pour me another, Thoros?" Narcissa asked, holding her empty glass out.

"Of course," he said, adding as he picked up the bottle, "I suppose you're right about the Potter boy."

"Let us hope so," Lucius said.

. . . . . . . . . .

After dinner the three boys, purloined cakes in their grubby hands, sprawled out under a tree as the adults continued to feint over port on the terrace. "Hogwarts next year," Theo said with evident satisfaction as he took a bite from his extra dessert. "No more tutors. _Freedom_."

"Quidditch," Harry said.

"You won't be allowed to play," Theo said. "Not your first year."

Harry shrugged. "So?" he asked around a mouthful of frosting. "We'll still be able to _go_."

Draco was silent, pulling up blades of grass and shredding them until Theo asked, "What?"

"What if we don't all end up in the same House?" he asked.

"We'll all be in Slytherin. Duh." Theo said. "Where else would we be?"

Harry, his cake devoured, lay back on the grass. "Not me," he said. "I'll be in Gryffindor like my mum and dad. And Sirius."

"Why would you want that?" Theo asked. "They're all… loud. And pushy. And –"

"And brave" Harry said. "And bold."

"Whatever." Theo licked the last of his cake off his fingers. "You'll be a coup for whatever House gets you, being the Boy Who Lived and all."

"Ugh," Harry said. "I hate that. Why can't I be just Harry?"

"Because you can't," Theo said.

"It's not like I had anything to do with it," Harry protested. "I was a baby." He scowled from where he lay on the lawn. "People are always waving at me and Mum says I have to be nice but to never let them encroach."

"Good advice," Theo said, adding something rude about half-bloods and their easily hurt 'widdle feelings' under his breath that earned him a smack in the arm from Harry, who didn't bother to get to get enough leverage to make it really hurt. "Animal," Theo said. "You do belong in Gryffindor."

"See," Draco said. "I don't want us to be in different Houses. My mum said you hardly ever even see kids from other Houses and – "

"That's crap," Harry said. "We'll all be friends no matter where we're sorted."

Draco didn't say anything and finally Theo poked him. "Draco's just worried he'll be sorted into Hufflepuff," Theo said.

Draco rolled over and punched Theo in the arm. "Prick," he said. "Take that back."

"I think Hufflepuff's probably out," Harry said, laughing from where he lay on the grass as Theo and Draco pounded on one another.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N –  
**_

 _ **If you are confused by anything in the fic, I recommend going back to read '10 Times McGonagall Had Something to Say' in the dramione drabble collection. That's pretty much the outline for this. And, of course, tumblr is the best place to corner me with questions.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Harry squirmed away from Narcissa. "You're embarrassing me," he muttered as she ran her fingers through his hair and tried, again, to get the locks to lie down in something that looked as if it had been combed sometime in the past week. They'd all come together to Platform 9 ¾ to see the boys off on their first trip to Hogwarts and Narcissa had been fussing at Harry's hair since they arrived.

"You just look like no one loves you when your hair is all over the place like that," she said.

"And we do," Sirius said, arms crossed as he looked at the two boys. Harry had managed to dart away from Narcissa's embrace and was hovering over his cart of belongings while Draco had leaned in for one more hug. Remus stood a bit behind him, uncomfortable as always in the presence of the Malfoys, his hands shoved down into his pockets.

"That owl," Lucius said in his usual drawl. "A bit much, Sirius. He could have just used ours."

"Boy needs a familiar," Sirius said. In truth the big white owl did seem excessive but Harry had almost hugged the thing in the store and, rather than pecking his eyes out, the bird had rubbed her beak against his cheek. Sirius had decreed it was fate, they were meant for one another, and had purchased the thing on the spot. He'd tried to get Harry to name it "Minerva" or "Snivellus" but, to Sirius' amusement, the boy had insisted her name was "Hedwig."

"I love you, Mum," Draco whispered as he leaned into Narcissa.

She held onto her child tightly for a moment. "And I love you, my dragon," she murmured back. "And I will no matter what House you are in."

Draco straightened up. "It'll be great," he said, his smug voice hiding the glint of tears they could all see in his eyes. "On our own. No tutors. A dorm. _Quidditch_."

"I can't wait," Harry said, looping an arm over Draco. "Can we go now?"

"Try to stay out of trouble," Sirius recommended.

"Trouble will find them," Lucius said as he waved them both onto the train, an invitation to leave the adults neither boy ignored.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sirius said as the boys disappeared. "Well, shall we all go get a drink and listen to how quiet things are while we wait for news of the Sorting?"

"He'll be in Slytherin," Lucius said. "Malfoys always are."

"Well, so were the Blacks," Sirius said, "And look at me."

"I'd rather not," Lucius said with an eye roll and half-hearted sneer.

"Draco will be where he belongs," Narcissa said.

"Which will be Slytherin."

. . . . . . . . . .

The two boys slouched and sneered and hid their nerves in the face of a train full of older children who all knew where they were going, who were greeting friends missed all summer, until they finally threw themselves down on seats in an empty compartment and stretched their feet out in front of them, taking up as much space as possible. "You ready?" Draco asked.

Harry grinned at him, the expression only a little shaky. "For anything."

"It'll just be classes," Draco said, sounding as confident and knowledgeable as he didn't feel. "Nothing exciting happens your first year. We can't even play Quidditch."

"Still," Harry said, "We'll be together, probably even in the same room."

"Assuming we're in the same House," Draco said.

"We will be," Harry said. "I'll just tell them to put me in the same House as you. It doesn't matter to me which one it is."

Draco snorted. "You're such a Gryffindor. Don't be an idiot."

"Excuse me." They both looked up at the voice. A small, frizzy haired girl was standing in the doorway. "Have you seen a toad?"

"A what?" Harry asked.

"A _toad_ ," she repeated, as if she thought he might be a tad slow. "Neville lost his."

"Neville?" Draco asked, staring at the girl as if he couldn't quite place who she was but thought he ought to know her. "Who's Neville?"

"Neville Longbottom," she said, now clearly convinced that neither of them were very bright. "He – "

"Found him!" The voice came from somewhere down the train and this girl pulled her head out of the compartment and looked toward the source of the sound.

"I've found a place to sit, Nev," she called. She looked back at the two boys. "Assuming that's okay. Just about everything's full up."

"Yeah, that's fine," Draco said, moving over. Better, he thought, this girl and her toad-carrying friend than some upper-year who would either try to intimidate them both or fawn all over Harry.

"Great." The girl sat down next to him, dropping a book bag with an audible thump. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Hermione Granger. Who're you?"

"Granger?" Draco didn't take her hand. He just squinted at her. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I doubt it," she said cheerfully. "I'm Muggle-born."

Draco pulled almost imperceptibly away from her, a motion she saw. Her hand dropped. "Oh," she said. A look flashed in her eyes that was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Draco thought she had looked hurt. "That's how it is. I see."

"He's just being a prat," Harry said. "My mum was Muggle-born." He stuck his own hand out to her across the space between them. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Her eyes widened as she leaned forward and took his hand. "The Boy-Who-Lived," she said. "I've read all about you in _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Just… forget about all that, would you?"

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm… just Harry, okay?" he said. "I don't like being different."

The boy who had to be Neville Longbottom stumbled into the compartment at that moment, identifiable by the toad clutched in his pudgy hands. Hermione looked at him. "You really need a cage for that," she observed.

The boy sat down, his body perched on the edge of the seat next to Harry as if he weren't sure he was welcome. "Gran said I didn't," he said.

"Well," Hermione retorted. "Gran was wrong." She bent down and opened up her bag and rummaged around, pulling out a worn, stuffed toy that she shoved back in as soon as she'd fished out copy of the history of Hogwarts book. "I've read all of this so many times trying to figure everything out." She looked almost hungrily at Harry. "What was it like to grow up having all of this be normal? I feel like I've been different forever and it'll be so great to just be ordinary." She flicked a glance at Draco. "I figured maybe for once I'd be accepted and fit in but maybe not."

"I…." Harry ran a hand through his hair, undoing what little progress Narcissa had made in getting it to lie flat. "It just always was. Living with magic, I mean. What was it like to find out so late?"

"A relief," she said, exhaling so noisily Neville's frog almost jumped out of his hands again at the sound. She saw Draco eying her stuffed toy and closed up her bag. "I thought… all my life I thought I was the only one who could…do stuff." She glared at the boy, who was still looking at her bag. "What do you have against Muggle-borns anyway?"

Draco took his eyes away from her things at last and focused on her face. "They're dirty," he said, almost defiantly. "Muggles are, anyway, with no magic to keep things clean."

"Rude," she opined.

"It's true," he shot back.

"That you're rude?" she asked.

Harry was openly laughing and Draco didn't like it.

"It's true that you're filthy," he said, glaring first at Harry then at the girl. That look of hurt flashed into her eyes again and Draco felt something stab at him. He reached out to touch her arm but she pulled away.

"Don't," she hissed. "You might get _dirty_."

Neville had hunched over himself at their exchange and he gave Harry a desperate 'do something' look.

Harry, who had stopped laughing, kicked Draco and said, "Don't be such a git."

"What?" the boy demanded.

"You. Are. Being. A. Jerk." Harry said, articulating each word and kicking his friend in the shin with each one. "Cut it out." He nudged Hermione with his foot. "I hear the sweets trolley coming. Want something?"

"I'm not allowed to have sweets," Hermione said, though she looked rather longingly toward the sound of the approaching cart. "They rot your teeth."

Harry snorted and made a show of looking around. "Are your mum and dad here?" he asked.

"Noooo," she said, drawing the word out as Harry opened the compartment door and looked down to see how close the trolley was.

"And we're all friends here, right?" he said, turning back to give Draco a scathing look. "None of us are going to rat you out."

Draco stood up and shoved Harry back down into his seat. "Let me get it," he said. "You're going to go broke buying owl treats for that bird of yours."

"I can buy my own sweets," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Draco said, "but you aren't allowed to have them so you'll just have to filch some of mine."

She stared at the boy, her eyes narrowed.

"This is his way of apologizing," Harry said. He'd put his finger on the head of Neville's toad and was admiring it as he spoke. "It's as if the actual words 'I'm sorry' would make him burst into flame or something. He just buys people stuff when he feels bad."

When the Trolley arrived Draco got some of everything and spread them out on the seat between himself and Hermione, tossing things he didn't care for at Harry. When Neville didn't take any Draco said, with a roll of his grey eyes, "Are you not allowed to have sweets either?"

"N…no, it's just that…"

"They're for everyone," Draco said. "Longbottom, huh? Pureblood?"

"What is your hang-up about that?" Hermione demanded, speaking to him for the first time since he'd bought the sweets. "Are you this much of a prejudiced jerk about everything or just that? I mean, do you hate people for having a different skin color, or being poor, or anything, or is it only the blood thing that you care about? Because that's not right, to go around judging people that way!"

She took a breath and looked like she was about to go on when Draco held up a hand to cut her off. "I'm sorry," he said.

Harry's head swung around as though he couldn't believe he'd heard those words come out of Draco Malfoy's mouth.

"It's just… it matters in my world, okay? Muggles are… not okay."

"It doesn't have to matter for you." Hermione was still fuming at him. "And there is nothing wrong with Muggles. My parents are Muggles." She pointed at Harry. "If his mum is Muggle-born, his grandparents are Muggles. You – "

"I'm _sorry_ ," Draco said again, cutting her off. He thrust his hand out. "Could we try again? Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger."

She set down the bag of Every Flavour Beans she'd been holding and put her hand in his. "Pleasure," she said though the look on her face suggested she wasn't wholly sure of that.

"What did you have in your bag?" Draco asked her. He'd caught sight of the stuffed animal when she'd hauled out the book she still had next to her on the seat. He suspected they were the two things that she was holding onto to feel safe; he couldn't imagine how frightening it would be to go off to Hogwarts when all you knew about the wizarding world was what was in that book. He was frightened, not that he'd admit it out loud, and he'd been waiting for this ever since he could remember.

She turned a dull shade of red.

"He just wants to know if it's an otter," Harry said, flicking beans whose flavours he didn't think he'd like at Neville. "He's got a collection of otter stuffies at home."

"Oh." She gave the blond boy a sudden, genuine smile and he swallowed at what that did to his chest. "No," she said, leaning down and pulling the worn stuffed animal out of her bag. "It's a dragon."

"What's his name," Neville asked, trying to dodge another bean.

"Just 'Dragon'," she said, her fingers curled possessively around the toy.

"Didn't you name all your otters 'Otter 1', 'Otter 2' and so on?" Harry asked.

Draco glared across at Harry. "Could we just let my otters drop? We're looking at Hermione's dragon now."

"But you love your otters. You have a thing for otters." Harry said, opening a chocolate frog and then swearing as it hopped out the window. Neville looked scandalized at the language but Hermione just stared after the hopping chocolate, her eyes wide.

"Serves you right," Draco said. "Git." He leaned over to Hermione. "They've only got one good jump in them. You'd think he'd have learned by now."

"I think it's sweet," Hermione said, smiling at Draco again as he made an effort to include her in their world. "That you like otters, I mean. I always had a thing for dragons." She seemed a bit embarrassed to admit that; her cheeks turned red again and she tucked the stuffed animal closer to her chest. "My mum didn't want me to bring him. Said I needed to grow up."

Harry started to laugh. "You haven't told her your name yet, have you?"

Draco Malfoy slouched down in his seat. "It's Malfoy," he said, almost mumbling the words.

" _Draco_ Malfoy," Harry amended.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Hi**_

 _ ***waves awkwardly from my couch***_

 _ **You're all still here. Well, huh. Go figure. Thanks for being so awesome and reading this and being really quite overwhelming with the reviews.  
**_

 _ **Now that you've read this you should go read Aca-demic Arrangements because it's ACA-AWESOME. (Yes, it's Tomione, but… it's non-magical AU and Tom's pretty OOC what with being merely rude instead of a homicidal maniac. It's wonderful. It's linked in my favorites because it's the happiest thing I'm reading right now.)**_


	6. Chapter 6

"We have to ride in a boat?" Hermione asked, giving the lake a suspicious look. "It's _dark_ out _,"_ she said, moving a step closer to Draco so they were almost touching.

Draco reached down and clumsily grabbed onto her hand. She made a tiny peep but didn't pull away. "I'll ride with you," he said. "Same boat. Won't let go. It'll be fine, I promise."

Harry stood on her other side and looped an arm around her shoulders. "No one's drowned in at least seven years," he said, his voice completely serious. "I doubt you'll be the one to mess up the safety record."

Draco felt her squeeze his hand and he muttered, "Don't be a jerk, Harry. She's really nervous and you aren't helping."

"It's just that it's so dark," she said, her voice taking on a certain false bravado. "I'm sure it's fine. A little weird that we have to take boats when everyone else is riding in carriages pulled by nothing."

Harry looked back at the carriages. "They're pulled by ugly horses, what are you talking about?"

Draco blinked at him a few times, looked over at the carriages, and then back at Harry. "She's right, mate," he said. "They're being pulled by nothing.

Theo came up behind them. "I can see them too," he said. "Who's your new friend?"

"Hermione," Draco said. "And you probably know Neville."

Theo Nott looked at the boy standing off to the side, holding his toad in a pocket with one hand. "Not really," he said.

"Longbottom," Draco said.

Theo shrugged. "I don't really know all the blood traitors." He said the words without any heat or menace but Neville stepped back anyway, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I'll see you all in the castle before we all get put into Slytherin."

"Slytherin?" Hermione said the word softly as she watched the lanky, dark-haired boy walk away. "I don't think I'll be sorted into Slytherin."

"No," Draco said, not really paying attention because he was frowning at Theo's back. "Mudbloods never are."

"Draco." Harry said the name with shocked disapproval and Hermione, who'd heard Harry say 'fuck', 'bloody', 'goddamn', and 'shite' multiple times already on the train turned her head to stare at him. "Don't talk like that. Don't – "

"Shite," Draco said. "I'm sorry." He squeezed Hermione's hand again. "I didn't mean it. It's just… a bad habit from hearing my dad."

"What's it mean?" she said, her tone suggesting she already knew what it meant.

"It's a bloody rude word," Harry said. "If his mum heard him use it she'd wash his mouth out with soap."

"It means Muggle-born," Neville said. He was glaring at Draco too. "And it's an _awful_ word. The _worst_ word."

"I said I was sorry," Draco snapped at the boy. "It just… came out." He looked at Hermione and said again, almost helplessly, "I didn't mean it."

Hermione made to tug her hand away from his but then a giant man was herding them onto the rickety seeming boats and she gulped and held on tighter instead.

"I really am sorry," Draco whispered in her ear after he'd helped her into one boat and settled next to her. "I… it's the way my dad talks. I didn't mean it, not the way… I won't do it again."

Just then the boat moved off and she closed her eyes and said, "I wish it weren't so dark. What if there's something in the water?"

"Like the giant squid?" Harry asked.

"Merlin, Harry," Draco snapped. "Are you trying to freak her out on purpose?"

"Well, there _is_ a giant squid," he said, "and if she's really read that boring book about the school she knows that."

"And mermaids," Hermione said, her voice tiny. "In Muggle stories mermaids are quite nice but I think – "

"Yeah," Neville said. "They're not that nice."

"I just want to be Sorted and find my room and – "

"And eat," Harry said. "There's a feast."

"What if you're in Slytherin?" Hermione asked, clearly starting to get nervous about something else now. "You're the only people I know and… and…"

"I won't be in Slytherin," Neville said. "M…my parents were both in Gryffindor so I will be too."

"Oh, good," she said with evident relief. "Maybe we'll be together then."

"It runs like that in the old families," Harry said. "House affiliation, I mean. My dad and mum were both in Gryffindor too. All the Potters were."

"Not always," Draco said. He sounded a little defiant. "Your godfather was in Gryffindor and he was a Black."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Dad's a bit of a rebel."

"A bit?" Draco asked. They were approaching the shore by now and he could tell Hermione was distracted by their conversation so he kept going. "He owns a _motorbike_. A _flying_ motorbike." Draco lowered his voice and added as though this were the ultimate forbidden thing. "He has _tattoos_."

"Are tattoos that bad in the wizarding world?" Hermione asked.

"My dad told me to never _ever_ get one," Draco said. "Not of anything."

"Huh," Hermione said. "I wonder why."

Draco shrugged. The boats had landed and he helped her out. "Time to get Sorted," he said as cheerfully as he could.

"I hope we're together," she said. "All of us."

"Me too," Neville said.

"Yeah," Draco said.

"It wouldn't be fair," Hermione said, squeezing his hand, "to finally meet a real live dragon and then have him get put in another House."

Draco's blush was hidden in the darkness; he'd never simultaneously hated his stupid name and been grateful for it at the same time before, but ever since Harry had decided it was hilarious that this girl had a thing for dragons and his name basically _was_ dragon he'd wavered between wanting to crawl into a hole and never come out and being glad he'd caught her attention.

"Yeah," he muttered again. "That would be unfair."

. . . . . . . . . .

The First Years all hovered, waiting for their turn to be Sorted.

Draco didn't even know what to hope for. Harry would surely be in Gryffindor. Potters always were. And he'd be in Slytherin. Malfoys always were and he knew he wasn't brave or unusual like Sirius. He'd never done anything bold or foolish or… so he just put a sneer on his face and looked around at all the other students with disdain.

The hat had barely touched Hermione's head before it yelled out "Gryffindor" and she jumped up and ran over to their table. The hat didn't hesitate before putting Longbottom in there with her. When it was his turn Draco tossed the cockiest look he could at Harry before sauntering over to the stool.

Professor McGonagall gave him a searching look before she settled the hat on his head.

He sat there and waited for the hat to yell out "Slytherin" but instead the thing spoke inside his head.

"Well," it said, "Fragments and reflections and echoes. How interesting. Things are different for you because of events that never happened."

"What?" Draco asked it, confused.

"Bravery, self-sacrifice you have made and yet haven't – you're quite the unusual boy," the hat continued.

"I'm not brave," Draco admitted to it. "I'm scared all the time."

The hat laughed and he could feel himself starting to sulk. A hat was laughing him at. A _hat_. "You think that bravery is not feeling fear?" the Sorting Hat asked. "Sometimes I forget how young you all at this moment."

Draco was going to ask it what that meant by that when it called out, "Gryffindor" and he scrambled off the stool to shocked silence from the Slytherin table. He looked back at Theo and Harry. Theo's face had closed down but Draco knew him well enough to see the unhappiness the other boy was hiding. Harry, on the other hand, looked overjoyed.

Draco looked up at McGonagall who made a shooing gesture at him and he ran over to the Gryffindor table and slipped in next to Hermione.

"This is great," she said.

"Yeah," Draco said, but he looked back at Theo and watched his childhood friend Sorted into Slytherin and away from him. Theo looked over at him and swallowed before shrugging and sitting down with his new Housemates.

When Professor McGonagall called Harry's name the room got very quiet. "It's true," Draco heard a ginger haired boy still standing with the unsorted First Years say in a voice that carried in the sudden silence. "Harry Potter is at Hogwarts this year."

Murmurs of "Harry Potter" and "the boy who lived" began to make their way from one student to the next until the boy slunk forward and climbed onto the stool.

"Is it always like that?" Hermione asked Draco in a whisper.

"Pretty much," he said back. "Everywhere he goes. It's awful."

Harry was Sorted into Gryffindor and nearly ran to join them, sliding in next to Draco with a look of relief. The Sorting continued and Draco was less than pleased to see the ginger haired git who'd been so loud-mouthed about Harry joined them at the Gryffindor table. He eyed the boy and said with a cold sneer, "You'll come to learn, Hermione, that in the wizarding world some families are better than others. Red hair. Hand-me-down robes. This must be a Weasley."

She yanked her hand away from his. "So you're snotty about class too?" she demanded and Draco crossed his arms and glared at the newcomer. Now he had two reasons to dislike the boy. Three if you counted that he was a Weasley.

He decided he was going to go with three.

"Wow," the boy said, thrusting his hand out toward Harry. "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, that's amazing!"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking the hand for only a brief moment.

"And you are?" Hermione asked. She had narrowed her eyes at the boy and Draco felt a little thrill that she didn't seem to like him.

"Ron," he gushed, still looking at Harry. "Ron Weasley. Wow. Wait until I tell my mum that Harry Potter's in my House."

"He doesn't really like being fussed over for that Boy-Who-Lived thing," Hermione said. She sounded like a condescending know-it-all and Draco, who'd pegged her as a vulnerable bundle of nerves, blinked a few times.

"Why not?" Ron Weasley asked. "You're _famous_ ," he said to Harry.

"Maybe," Hermione said, her tone still snottier than Draco had heard from her on the train or in the boat, "he'd rather not be reminded of how his _parents died._ " She nearly hissed the last two words and Ron Weasley had the grace to blush.

Harry gave her a quick, grateful smile and then they all turned and began listening to a confusing and utterly not-helpful welcoming speech. "Stay out of the Forbidden Forest," Hermione repeated, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to take notes, "and away from the third floor corridor." Draco saw her almost begin to reach for the bag she'd carried all the way in herself, the one with her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and her Dragon, then stop herself.

Draco looked back up at the Head Table, trying to guess which professor taught what. McGonagall, who he knew was now his Head of House, was studying the Gryffindor table with what seemed like more than idle curiosity. He remembered the way she'd looked at him before he put the Sorting Hat on and shivered. His mum sometimes looked at him that way, as if he reminded her of someone else, as if she were trying to trace some other boy's features in the shape of his eyes or line of his jaw.

It had been beyond creepy to see a woman he'd never met before do it too.

Severus Snape, who had been to the Manor a handful of times and with whom his parents were cordial, was staring at him as well, his eyes flicking now and then over to Harry. The man's expression was dark and resentful and Draco moved closer to his friend on the bench, worried.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Gryffindor?" Severus Snape drawled the words out in the faculty lounge after the prefects had herded all the little First Years up, or down, to their dorms. "A _Malfoy_?" He laughed. "Lucius will have kittens."

Minerva McGonagall shrugged as she poured herself a cup of tea. She wasn't looking forward to the Howler she was sure to get from Lucius Malfoy – she'd already sent Narcissa a quick owl – but she wasn't surprised. Anyone who would travel back in time and risk negating his own existence to try to prevent a war had a streak of reckless courage that belonged in her House. It was eerie to see the lines of the tired and injured boy she'd met so many years before echoed in his younger self. Eerie, too, to see the scarred and horror-stricken girl repeated in smug little Hermione Granger, also, unsurprisingly, one of hers.

"I find your phrasing a little offensive," was all she said. "Have kittens, Severus? Really?"

"Oh, so sorry," the man said. "I forgot for a moment your bond with all things feline, Minerva."

"Why don't you go see about welcoming your little snakes?" Minerva suggested, controlling the irritation that threatened to color her tone by force of will. "I saw you have a few who look like they might need the rules explained to them using very small words."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Why, Minerva," he said before he swept away. "How catty of you."

. . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N – Ah, thank you all for the ongoing amazing response to this._**


	7. Chapter 7 (Lucius Has Kittens)

Remus slouched down in the leather seat, a pint of beer held in one hand and his head leaning on the other. An owl had arrived from McGonagall several hours earlier. Sirius had greeted the news that Harry had been sorted into Gryffindor with fist pumps and a loud hoot. Lucius had been less pleased that Draco had been similarly sorted.

"He is a _Malfoy_ ," the man had nearly snarled when Narcissa had passed him McGonagall's note. "All Malfoys belong in Slytherin."

Lucius had been ranting for hours. Remus had a headache and wanted nothing more than to go back to Grimmauld Place and sleep. Sirius, unfortunately, seemed amused by this entire scene and so Remus found himself stuck watching his friend watch Lucius Malfoy rage and fume because it seemed rude to leave on his own.

At first Lucius had threatened to go up to the school and demand – _demand_ – that the Hat reSort his son. Then he'd wanted to send McGonagall a Howler. Then he'd considered sending one to Dumbledore; Sirius had encouraged that idea with more than a little enthusiasm. Then Lucius had moved on to wanting to convene the Board of Governors of the school, planning to have them insist his son be moved.

"You could just blast him off the family tapestry," Sirius finally said. "That's what my parents did to me, after all."

Remus groaned.

Lucius said, his lips nearly grinding together and his jaw twitching with rage, that he would never disown his son. Not ever. Not for anything. Draco was a _Malfoy_ and that mattered more than any ridiculous school House affiliation.

That was when Narcissa had apparently had enough of her husband's tantrum. "Draco is with Harry," she said, "which I'm sure makes both boys happy. If you cause a fuss, Lucius, you'll just let people know this was _not_ part of your plan. Is that what you want?"

Lucius turned slowly toward his wife. She sat in a leather chair with her ankles crossed neatly in front of her. "Snape is up at that school," she said.

"Snivellus," Sirius spit out.

Narcissa ignored him. "Do you want him to know you aren't happy?" she asked. "Because he's not going to be Harry Potter's biggest fan. He is _not_ our ally." She paused. "Don't give him a weapon, especially not one that points at Draco."

Lucius looked at Remus then. "Sirius, take your friend home, he looks like he's in pain."

Sirius looked from Narcissa to Lucius then nodded. "My first priority remains what it always has been," he said. "I'll see James and Lily's son grown and happy, no matter the cost."

"Secrets," Remus said, pulling himself up. Sirius looked as if he were going to apologize but Remus held his hand out. "What I don't know I can't reveal," he said. "The boys got into Gryffindor. We celebrated that they'll be together; brothers should stay together. I have a headache. That's all I know."

"Bare is the back," Sirius said.

"Exactly," Remus said. "Let's go."

. . . . . . . . . .

After they left Lucius sighed and rubbed at his own head. "Gryffindor," he said in resignation. "It had to be Gryffindor."

"He's with his brother," Narcissa said. She stood and walked toward the door, pausing when she had her hand on the doorknob. "The girl was sorted into Gryffindor too."

"Of course she was," Lucius said. "Please tell me that at least she's from some family we know. The Parkinsons or the Greengrasses or – "

"Muggle-born," Narcissa said.

Lucius slumped in his own seat. "Fucking Merlin on a broken broomstick," he swore. "A Mudblood. Could this night get any worse?"

"I'm going to bed," Narcissa said. "I'm afraid you're going to have to eliminate that word from your vocabulary, dearest."

"How am I supposed to play that my son is in Gryffindor, best friends with Harry Potter, and in love with a filthy Mudblood and make it look like it's a good plan? That it benefits that bloody bastard?" Lucius turned to look at Narcissa. "This would have been a lot easier if both boys had gotten into Slytherin. Sometimes I think that Hat has a bloody fucked off sense of humor."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Narcissa said. "Perhaps something as simple as a rebellious child, something we aren't taking seriously but that makes him, at least for now, unsuited to service. Adolescents are often difficult."

"I wasn't," Lucius said. "I did what I was told, married the woman I was told – "

Narcissa made a slight coughing noise.

"You know I adore you," he said. "You know I adored you long before they arranged for us to officially meet in that formal parlour at your parent's country estate and you looked up at me through those lashes of yours and said in a meek voice I have never heard you use since that you'd be happy to do whatever your father thought best."

"We were both good at sneaking down trellises," Narcissa agreed. "Though I've always suspected your parents knew."

"Did she really have to be a Mudblood?" Lucius asked with a sigh, pulling himself up from his chair.

Narcissa shrugged and Lucius narrowed his eyes. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"Come to bed, love," she said. "In the morning we'll send a box of cakes off to the boys congratulating them on their Sorting. That will reassure Draco that you're not upset –"

"Except that I am upset," Lucius corrected her.

"- and send a very public message of support," Narcissa continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "As you said, what matters is that he's a Malfoy, nothing else. Now let's go upstairs. I may be too old to climb down a trellis with no fear of falling but we could, perhaps, reenact what we did in the barn after we slipped out of our respective rooms."

"With less hay," Lucius said. "If you don't mind."

"I could transfigure a blanket into hay," Narcissa said, a teasing lilt to her voice, "if you wanted to really bring back memories."

Lucius took her hand and, turning it, kissed her palm. "If you are too old to climb down a trellis," he said, "I am too old to get hay in some parts of my anatomy."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Draco kept his back to his room as he set his books out on his desk; he'd pulled all his clothes out, had arranged his study materials, and had started to pull out the otter he'd brought only to shove it back into his trunk. Neville's toad had already tried to hop away again, proving Hermione's point that the thing needed some kind of cage, and Harry was sprawled out on his bed looking at a Quidditch magazine with that Ron Weasley.

When Draco had fantasized about going to Hogwarts he'd never quite thought about having to share a room with anyone other than Harry. He'd never quite realized that he had to share a room with three other boys for the next seven years. He had to share a room with _Ronald Weasley_ , who'd gushed over Harry and who, even now, was looking at Quidditch magazines with his brother.

Neville was fine. He had that escape artist toad, and he'd gotten up in Draco's face about the 'Mudblood' thing but he was fine. Fine. Ron Weasley, however, was another matter. Draco could feel his mouth set in a sneer as he put the last schoolbook out and turned to face the room.

"Draco," Harry said without looking up, "Now that you're done channeling Remus, come look at this. They've got the predictions for this year's team picks."

"Draco Malfoy," Ron said, flipping a page of his magazine. "Would have expected you to get sorted into Slytherin. Isn't that where your type goes?"

"His type?" Harry asked, his hand stilling above the magazine he'd been about to pick up and toss to Draco.

"Yeah," Ron said, his eyes on the article he was reading. "Everyone who followed you-know-who came from Slytherin. Course his family claimed to be bewitched but that's not what my dad says. He says Malfoys never needed a reason to go over the Dark Side."

"At least Malfoys don't have more children than they can afford," Draco bit back.

"Guys," Neville stammered, "maybe we should – "

"Yeah," Harry said, closing up his magazine. "Maybe we should. I was going to write a note to your mum, Draco. Do you have some paper I can borrow?"

Draco silently handed Harry a sheet of parchment from his desk before he went and joined Neville. "What's your toad's name?" he asked, pointedly ignoring Ron and the lump in his own throat.

"Trevor," Neville said, stroking the small animal on the chin. "I hope he doesn't get lost again."

"I'll ask my mum – Draco's mum – to send a terrarium or something," Harry said. "He'll probably be happier if he's got a toad place to go instead of just a bed or pocket."

"If I had a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could," Ron said. His own familiar, a dingy looking rat, was sleeping on his pillow. "Course, I have Scabbers."

"Yeah," Draco said. "I wouldn't talk."

"Where's your familiar?" Ron asked, the words sounding almost like a challenge.

"Haven't got one," Draco said. "My parents thought I'd do better without a pet to take care of."

"You can share mine," Neville offered.

"Thanks," Draco said as he reached out to touch Trevor. "He's kind of cute."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco heard whispers follow Harry from the moment they slipped out of their shared room the following morning. Upper year Gryffindors tried not to stare but they all heard variations on, 'It's him, I saw the scar.' Ron looked nervous and a little pleased at the attention but Neville reached up and pulled Harry's bangs forward after they passed through the portrait entrance to their common room and students from other houses took up the whispering chorus.

"Ger off me," Harry said, pushing him away.

"Hides the scar if you wear it forward," Neville said. "I know what it's like to be… I figured you might not want everyone staring at it."

"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, good thinking. Thanks Nev."

Hermione was already at breakfast, a schedule sitting in front of her that she was studying with her brow furrowed. Draco leaned over the table to look at it and saw she'd colour-coded the different subjects. "Nervous?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I don't want to be behind, you know? You all came from families where this was all normal. What if I'm the worst one?"

"You won't be," Neville said, his tone glum as he helped himself to eggs and toast. "That'll be me. Gran thought I might be a squib for a while, even. Besides, there's loads of students from Muggle families every year so it's not like you're the only one." He spooned a dollop of marmalade onto his plate. "Bet I'm the only near-squib though."

"What's a squib?" Hermione asked.

"Someone born to magical parents who can't do magic," Draco said.

"Oh." Hermione gave Neville a sympathetic look. "Well, your gran was wrong about your toad needed a cage so I'm sure she's wrong about this too."

Just then hundreds of owls swooped in, dropping letters and small parcels on the tables. Draco looked at them, waiting for the Howler about his sorting, and Hermione caught his nervous glance.

"Do they poop on your head, or something?" she asked, looking a little nervous herself as she voiced that thought and eyeing the platter of bacon with some concern.

"No," Draco said, shocked at the idea of an owl so badly trained it would defecate near people. "No, it's just… I expect my parents aren't too happy I ended up in Gryffindor." He gave her a shaky smile. "My dad's probably livid."

"Bet he's planning on storming over here with the whole Board of Governors behind him," Harry said around a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed and then added, "Or maybe he'll offer to buy them a new Sorting Hat, one that works properly since this one's clearly defective."

"You can't just buy a new Sorting Hat." Ron sounded appalled. "It's one of a kind."

"It was a joke, Ronniekins," a voice called down from somewhere up the table. Draco looked up the row of seated students to see a pair of matching older boys, both with the same red hair as Ron. More Weasleys, he thought to himself. Great.

The large Eagle owl from Malfoy Manor that flew over to them didn't drop off a Howler, however. Instead it passed along a small package that Draco fumbled to open.

"Sweet," Harry said, looking over his shoulder. "Mum sent cake."

Narcissa had sent cake, along with a note congratulating both boys on their Sorting and telling them she looked forward to decorating the Christmas tree with gold ornaments this year to celebrate their House affiliation. Lucius had added a quick note at the bottom saying only that he was happy they were together and to be sure to do their assignments on time.

Draco passed the box around so everyone near him could take one of the small cakes, hesitating only briefly before offering it to Ron. Neville read the note Draco left out and said, "She sounds nice."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Our mum is the nicest woman in the world."

"She's not _your_ mum," Ron said.

"You're wrong," Harry said. "She is."

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Sirius references the Icelandic proverb "Bare is the back of a brotherless man." Source: Hreinsson, Viðar, ed (1997). Brennu-Njáls saga.**_


	8. Chapter 8 (Classes Start)

Hermione's fears that she would be behind the other students turned out to be absurd. Draco watched in awe as she displayed that she already knew all the constellations they were supposed to learn that year in Astronomy, as she recited the properties of all the plants in their first Herbology lesson, and as she managed to wrest a smile from even the terrifying Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration.

"How did you learn all that?" he asked as they headed to their first Potions class.

She looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't need magic for Astronomy," she mumbled, "So I read the book and looked up a bunch of stuff at our library and drilled myself on it until I knew it all."

He gaped at her for a moment then said, "You really didn't want to be behind, did you?"

She shook her head.

"But magical Herbology…" he trailed off, not sure how she'd known all that as well.

"I got the books," she said, still mumbling, "Just the textbooks. It's not that hard, really. Not compared to Potions. I got the books for that for years one through three at Flourish & Botts when they took me there to get my things and I read them and I…." She stopped talking. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "Mum said once this is why people don't like me."

"I like you," Draco blurted out impulsively.

She flashed him that smile of hers and he grinned in delight at the sight of the teeth slightly too big for her mouth. It made her look endearing. It made her look adorable. "I'm glad," she said, tucking her hand in his. "It's nice to have a friend here."

"Yeah," Draco said, looking down at his feet at they entered Potions. It was the first class they'd had with Slytherin and he felt conflicting urges to pull his hand away from Hermione – surely they all knew she was a Mudblood by now – and the urge to hold on to her more tightly and protect her from the mocking glances of her classmates.

You're brave, he told himself. The Hat thought you belonged in Gryffindor. Be brave.

He held her hand more tightly and sat down at the same desk as she did.

He could hear Vincent Crabbe guffaw at the sight and Greg Goyle said, his voice carrying across the room, "I thought your parents said no familiar, Malfoy. They change their minds and let you get a pet after all?" He looked over at Theo, seated with Blaise Zabini, of course, and the boy just looked away. Zabini rolled his eyes and mouthed 'blood traitor' with a smirk.

"Do we know these arseholes, Draco?" Harry asked as he and Neville sat down at the next desk.

There was a gasp and then a nervous titter at Harry's language.

Draco was still looking at Theo, who wasn't looking back. "I don't think we do," he said after a moment.

The atmosphere of the Potions lab, already cold and dank because it was in the dungeons, got even colder after Draco spoke.

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy." It was Crabbe. "If you know what's good for you you'll – "

"Whatever he'll do," a voice drawled, "he'll do it after class." Professor Snape swooped into the room, lank hair falling around his face and a sneer under his hooked nose. He began to call roll.

Class went what Hermione would later call, in a fit of very British understatement, "badly."

"He's a jerk," she said that night as she sat on a couch in their common room with her feet tucked under her. "He was nasty to Harry for no reason, asked a bunch of questions on reading he hadn't even assigned yet – "

"You're just mad he wouldn't call on you," Harry said, grinning at her.

" – and then he was so mean to Neville during the actual practical part of the class just because he got his potion wrong, even though he was hurt." She huffed. "It's stupid to expect everyone to do it exactly right on the very first day. Apparently we aren't supposed to know the answers _or_ do the work wrong."

"He liked Malfoy well enough, though," Ron said. "Thought your potion was the bees knees, didn't he?"

"It was," Hermione said. "We did it right. Complimenting people who got the potion right doesn't make you a nice teacher." She leaned over and patted Neville's hand. "It doesn't make it okay that he was such a jerk to you."

"Thanks, Hermione," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

They had all looked forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts, thinking that that class would be the most exciting of all. There had been a Dark Wizard, and not that long ago, and somehow Harry had managed to, if not defeat him, exactly, then to somehow make him disappear. The eagerness with which they'd anticipated learning how to ward off Dark Curses and block even simple hexes made the reality of the class that much drearier.

Professor Quirrell smelt of garlic, didn't seem to have anything to teach them, and wore a purple turban on his head. The class was a total, smelly, bore. "I'm sure it's very nice," Hermione said of his turban. "I mean, I don't really know anything about wizarding fashion, but - "

"It's queer," Ron said. "Don't need to have grown up in a magical household to know _that_."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, her tone a bit prim, "but the way a lot of wizards dress looks odd to me. It's hard to know what's 'queer' and what's just the way wizards dress."

"My mum dresses like, well, like women in your Muggle fashion magazines," Draco told her. "We don't _all_ wear pointed black hats and shoes with toes that curl up." He glared at Ron. "Don't make her feel bad for not knowing things." He muttered something under his breath that sounded a bit like, "Maybe you're the one who should have been in Slytherin."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville's gran sent him a package the morning of their first flying lesson. He opened it, hoping for cakes like the ones Narcissa Malfoy continued to send regularly, only to frown at the white marble inside the box.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"It's a Remembrall," he said as his shoulders slumped. "She knows I forget things all the time so this is… you hold onto it and if it glows red you've forgotten something."

Neville picked it up and the color changed to red.

"What did you forget?" Hermione asked him.

"I don't know," he muttered, his face nearly as red as the ball in his hand.

"That doesn't seem very helpful," she said.

"It's not," Draco said, plucking the ball away from Neville's fingers.

"Hey," the boy complained but Draco threw the thing down on the floor and stepped on it, leaving it as a pile of shards and dust.

"If you forget things, get a diary or something," Draco said, "Not some stupid toy that'll just make you feel worse about stuff. Merlin, does your gran not like you or something?"

. . . . . . . . . .

"I wish we could just try out," Draco whined again as they made their way to the Quidditch pitch for what he considered to be wholly unnecessary flying lessons. He and Harry had been flying since before he could remember and they both had brooms at home that a professional Quidditch player would envy. "It's not fair first years can't play Quidditch."

"I know," Harry muttered, kicking a clod of dirt. "I'd be a great Seeker."

" _I'd_ be a great Seeker," Draco corrected him. "You'd be a great, I don't know, Chaser or something."

"Prat."

"Git."

"I've never flown," Neville said to Hermione in a nervous undertone as they walked behind the bickering pair. "My Gran thought it was too dangerous."

"I've never flown before because, well, you know," Hermione said.

Like Potions, the flying lesson was held with the students in their year from Slytherin. Draco could see Hermione tense when she saw the green on their robes but she just looped an arm around Neville and ignored the low laughter that greeted the arrival of the Gryffindors. Draco tried to catch Theo's attention and, at last, the boy gave him a wan smile but he turned it off just as quickly when Blaise Zabini came up to him. Draco's braced his shoulders against the slump that threatened to conquer them and turned his back on the Slytherin students and asked Harry in a loud voice whether he thought they'd get new brooms for Christmas.

Harry looked momentarily confused then, flicking his eyes over to look at Pansy Parkinson, the girl he'd been forced to partner in dance classes for three long years who was now sneering at the pair of them as she stood with Theo and Blaise, Harry said, his voice equally loud, "I'm sure. Or sooner, if a new model comes out." Pansy tossed her hair and Harry blew her a kiss. That seemed to fluster her and she turned away.

"Bunch of gits," Harry said to Draco under his breath. "Theo'll come around and Pansy'll be hanging all over one of us by Christmas, just you wait."

Draco shrugged. "'snot like I care," he said.

"Exactly," Harry said as the Quidditch coach and physical education teacher, Madam Hooch came striding across the pitch. She had a bundle of brooms following her.

"We're supposed to fly on _those_?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Do those even work anymore?" The woman handed him a broom and he made a face at the scraggly straw and the gouges in the handle.

"Think you can't handle it?" Harry asked, his hand on his own, equally battered, broom. "Can you only take to the air on something with cushioning charms and balance spells?"

"Is that a dare?" Draco demanded.

Harry smirked back at him but before either boy could start a race into the air the instructor began listing off what they needed to do to fly. For Harry and Draco it was a but like getting a lesson on breathing but Neville and Hermione both held their hands over their brooms and demanded 'up' in shaky voices that got only more nervous as the brooms just quivered on the ground before settling back to rest.

"It's the broom," Draco said as Hermione held her hand out and muttered, 'up' again. "These school brooms are so old I'm surprised they move at all. You can't ask someone to learn on something like this." He kicked at her broom.

"Maybe the Muggle just isn't quite cut out for flying," Greg Goyle suggested in what he probably thought was a sly tone of voice.

'It's 'Muggle-born'," Hermione said, "Not 'Muggle'. Try to keep it straight."

"There's a difference?" Vincent Crabbe asked. Blaise Zabini guffawed and Pansy cocked her head to the side as if waiting for the answer but Hermione just turned away with a mulish set to her jaw and held her hand over the broom again.

"Don't just order it," Draco suggested. "Invite it. You're trying too hard."

"Up?" Hermione said. The broom seemed to sigh as if this was all so much work but it finally staggered its way up into her hand.

Draco glared at it. "You can come visit me over break," he said, "and use a real broom. This piece of garbage is just going to put you off flying forever." He glanced over at Neville who was having similar trouble with his own school broom. "You too, Nev."

"Really?" Neville looked surprised and happy to be included before his face clouded and he mumbled, "I don't think Gran would let me."

"Why not?" Draco demanded.

Neville looked down. "Just reasons," he said. "But it's cool you asked.

Draco looked at him and then said, "Well, if you change your mind. Harry'll be there."

Neville flashed him a wan smile. "Yeah, she's pretty… she'd rather I come home, you know?"

"Listen up," the hard faced woman in front of them was saying and Draco turned around, his suck up expression firmly in place. "I'll be doing a series of flying tests; some of you don't need to waste my time in this class what with being on brooms since you could walk. Pass the test and you'll be excused for the rest of the term."

Harry flashed a thumbs-up at Draco who grinned back. One more free period sounded _great_. Madam Hooch called students out one at a time and asked them to fly to the other end of the pitch and back. When it was his turn Harry flew straight up into the air, bent down the handle of the school broom and raced to the other end of the pitch as fast as he could go. Once there he made a tight turn, zoomed back and then plunged to the ground in what looked like a death spiral.

Draco saw Hermione's eyes go wide and she grabbed onto to Neville's arm. "Show-offy git," he said to her. "He's fine."

Harry pulled out of his dive about five feet from the ground and settled at Madam Hooch's feet, a smug smile on his face.

"Do I pass?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "James Potter's son?" she confirmed with what sounded like exasperation. "I expect to see you at tryouts next year. Now go."

"Beat that," Harry said to Draco as he tossed the school broom back into the pile and made a show of sauntering off the pitch.

Ron, who'd been hanging out with a boy named Seamus and his roommate Dean, went next, and he flew easily to the other side and back.

"Nice to see someone who doesn't need to be quite so dramatic," Madam Hooch said. "Good job." She looked at Hermione. "Your turn."

"I… I think I need the class," Hermione muttered to a round of sniggering from the nearby children in green.

"Fine," Madam Hooch said. "Thursdays at 3:30." She looked at Draco and sighed. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco smirked at Hermione and then, taking a running start, hopped onto his broom and skimmed across the grass mere inches from the ground. Madam Hooch sighed noisily, then again when he reached the other end and pointed his broom up in the air. He flew back in great, swooping spirals that ending with him landing at the teacher's feet. He made an elaborate bow and she pinched her lips together and seemed to be controlling her urge to roll her eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you pass."

Draco glanced at Hermione, her shoulders hunched a little, and said, "Actually, I think I need more practice if that's okay."

Madam Hooch didn't even look up from her clipboard. "That's fine. Thursdays at 3:30. Dean Thomas? I have you listed next."

. . . . . . . . . .


	9. Chapter 9 (Boys will be Boys)

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why take an extra class you don't have to? Have you gone mental?"

Draco shrugged and kept spooning a second helping of the steak and kidney pie onto his plate. "I just need a little more flying time, is all," he said. "No big deal."

Harry looked like he thought that taking an extra class was the daftest thing he'd ever heard of, but before he could open his mouth to complain that now they wouldn't be able to search for secret passageways or sneak out to the Forbidden Forest or do anything fun, Blaise Zabini sauntered over from the Slytherin table. Draco had been forced to socialize with Zabini sporadically throughout their childhoods but they'd never been close friends the way he and Theo were. Or the way they had been. Draco looked over at the Slytherin table; Theo had his head down over a book.

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand was posing dramatically in front of him. His green robes swirled around his ankles in a way that suggested he'd practiced how to walk in them to achieve the greatest effect and Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe had positioned themselves behind him, their thick set jaws and bulky arms a counterpoint to Zabini's slender frame. "I just wanted to tell you how bad I feel," Zabini drawled.

"About how ugly you are?" Harry asked.

Zabini's smirk hardened. "About how you weren't even good enough to make it into Slytherin. I mean, no one really expected you to, Potter, what with you being a half-blood and all, but Malfoy? Your father must be so disappointed in you." He looked down at the blond boy on the Gryffindor bench. "I'm surprised he didn't burn you off the family tapestry."

"At least my mother hasn't married half the wizards in Europe," Draco said in a cold voice. "Doesn't she always inherit a lot, too? You know what they call women who get paid for it, right?"

Hermione was looking from one boy to the other, a nervous tilt to her shoulders. Neville scooted closer to her on the bench as though they could somehow ward off the looming Slytherins if they just stayed together.

"You know what they call people who hold hands with little Mudbloods, right?" Blaise retorted.

Draco stood up, extricated himself from the bench, and met the boy's taunting gaze with a furious one of his own. "What do they call them, Zabini?"

"Blood-traitors," Zabini said. "They call them blood-traitors. You're just like Weasley now, Draco Malfoy. A filthy, disgusting blood-traitor." He looked over at Hermione, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. "Your father must be so proud."

"You're pretty brave for someone who knows I'd never be so stupid as to hit you in the dining Hall," Draco said. "Try saying that when no teachers are around."

"I'll take you on anytime," Zabini said.

"Wizard's Duel," Draco snapped out. "Trophy room. Midnight."

"Done," Zabini said. "Who's your second?"

"Harry," Draco said as though that were the most obvious thing in the world. "Which of your idiot goons are you going to trust to back you up? I mean, even assuming they can find the Trophy Room, which I doubt."

"Crabbe," Zabini said. Crabbe cracked his knuckles and glowered at Draco Malfoy with as much menace as he could muster.

"You look constipated, Vincent," Harry said from his seat on the bench. "Maybe lay off the kidney pie? Have some juice?"

Vincent Crabbe glared at Harry over his shoulder as the three boys stomped away. When they had gone Harry took another bite of his dinner. "This is going to be fun," he said.

"What's a Wizard's Duel?" Hermione asked in a small voice as Draco sat back down.

"Oh, it's no big deal," Ron said from where he was seated. "I mean, people die in real ones but the most Zabini and Malfoy here'll be able to do is shoot sparks at one another. Worst outcome is likely to be that they all get caught and we lose points." He shrugged. "Worth it to know you took that Zabini git down a peg. Blood traitor. Hah." Ron made a face. "As if that were even a thing any more."

"It's a thing," Draco said, deflating a little.

"A _stupid_ thing," Harry said, "for stupid people who've got nothing other than their stupid family tree tapestry." He looked over at the Slytherin table. "I wonder how they fit all his step-fathers on that tree at his house, anyway."

Ron nearly choked on a bite. "Merlin," he said, "warn me next time."

"Lose points?" Hermione said. Her voice went up and got a little shrill. "We could _lose points_ just so you can do some magical version of a fist fight with that jerk?"

"Hermione," Harry began.

"You're just going to go _wandering about_ at night after curfew because he hurt your pride?" she demanded. "Don't you care about Gryffindor at all? I mean, I know it's not your precious Slytherin, but if you get caught you hurt all of us and that's so selfish!"

Neville had huddled down, his shoulders hunched up around his ears as she took a breath to continue. Harry cut off what was looking to be a rant for the record books by standing up.

"Girls," he said in absolute disgust. "You coming, Draco?"

Draco echoed the sentiment. "Girls," he said, and, after taking one last bite, he followed Harry out of the dining Hall.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Really?" Remus asked as Sirius put his leather jacket on. "You're going to bring back another girl, aren't you?"

"I prefer the term 'woman'," Sirius said.

Remus rolled his eyes. "That'll be the fourth this week."

"I have appetites," Sirius said, "and now that there isn't a little boy in the house to ask whether Jessica or Stephanie or Sally or Tabbie or Jen or Krissy or Heather or Kirsten or Rachel or Tracy or Dulce or whomever is going to be his new mum I plan to indulge those appetites." He fixed a sly look on Remus. "I could find someone with a friend for you?"

"I'm good, thanks," Remus said.

"You're fussy is what you are," Sirius said.

"No, I just like to remember which name goes with which woman," Remus said.

"Suit yourself," said Sirius. "Don't wait up."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I'm coming with you," Hermione said, hands on her hips.

The boys had planned to try to sneak out; they'd left Neville and Ron behind in their room, and they'd moved as quietly as they could out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione, however, who had seemingly been waiting for them had stopped them in the corridor. She was sitting up against the wall opposite the portrait hole entrance and had a book in her hand. She marked her page, shoved the book in her bag, and stood up.

"You are not coming with us," Draco hissed.

She tossed her hair and looked from Harry to Draco. "And you'll stop me how? Stupid prats, both of you. But you're not going off to face down that idiot without me. You'll just, I don't know, get distracted by something shiny in the Trophy Room and he'll hex you when you aren't paying attention. Or you'll end up making so much noise you'll get caught." She sniffed. "You need me."

Draco was about to protest that they did _not_ need her to go and interfere but Harry was grinning too broadly. "Great," Harry said. "Do you think you can do some kind of prank to Crabbe while Draco shoots off his baby hexes at Zabini? You're such a swot that you must know something good."

Hermione looked offended by the suggestion. "I'm trying to keep you out of trouble," she said huffily. "Not get into it myself."

Draco looked back at the closed portrait. The Fat Lady, the portrait dweller who took their passwords and opened for them, had wandered off and there was no getting back in now. "We're stuck with her," he said.

Hermione hit him on the arm. "Nice," she said.

"Just… don't distract me, okay?" he said.

She made a motion as if she were going to hit him again and Harry said, "C'mon."

They trooped through the halls, Hermione threatening the whole way that if they were caught, if Gryffindor lost points because of this, she would never, ever forgive them. She vowed she'd look up every spell Quirrell had ever mentioned and find out how to do them and cast them _all_ at the pair she was following.

"Ugh," said Harry. "Don't mention Quirrell. His class gives me a headache."

When they go to the Trophy Room neither Zabini nor Crabbe were there yet and they spent some time looking around. "Tom Riddle," Hermione read off one tarnished cup. "For Special Service to the School."

Harry peered over her shoulder. "Can't have been that special," he said, "not if no one's bothering to keep the thing clean."

"Wonder what he did?" Draco said, joining them. "It doesn't say."

They didn't get a chance to speculate on what the mysterious Riddle might have done because they heard the school's caretaker, a greasy man named Filch, and his cat, sniffing around outside the door. "I know they're out," they heard the man mutter. "I can always tell when a students roaming the halls at night. We'll find them, lovely."

The cat meowed in response and Hermione, who loved cats enough to have tried to pet that one only to have been rewarded with a scratch on her arm for her pains, made a face. "That stupid cat," she muttered.

"We need to get out of here," Harry said. "This way, fast!" They took off, making it around the corner into a gallery filled with suits of armor just in time, and from there they ran as fast as they could. They made it almost through the long hall when the castle poltergeist, a troublemaker named Peeves, saw them.

"Students in the halls!" he screeched, cackling as they ran. "This way! This way! Students in the halls!"

Draco stumbled into a tapestry that turned out to be hanging over a hidden passageway and they all darted through that, managing, somehow, to leave both ghost and caretaker behind. The slowed to a walk and, breathing hard, began to wonder where they were.

"Well, this is great," Hermione muttered. "We're lost in a giant, haunted castle filled with hidden corridors and dusty tapestries." She sneezed and then added, "You'd think this place would be cleaner with all the magic you could use to get stuff tidy."

"I don't think anyone's walked through here in a bit," Harry said, his eyes gleaming with delight. "We've found a secret way into the Hall of Knights in Armor."

"Is that what it's called?" Hermione asked him.

He shrugged. "I dunno. But it should be. Think of all the pranks we could play, popping out from behind that tapestry and then ducking away again. It could be brilliant." He gave Draco a high five.

"Pranks," Hermione said, sending a dirty look at the pair of them. "Great. I just want to not lose points and you two want to do pranks."

"And explore things," Harry said.

The passageway ended in a locked door and Harry rattled the doorknob in frustration. "Now what?" he asked. "Do we go back and hope they've both cleared out?"

" _Alohomora_ ," Hermione said, waving her wand at the door and unlocking it.

"Nice," Draco said. "See, you have to come with us on these things."

"You wanted me not to," she said, still huffing.

"Yeah, well I was…" Draco trailed off as they opened the door and looked at what was behind it. "Harry," he said, his voice a squeak. "What's that?"

"Run!" Harry yelped and, slamming the door behind them, they retreated back down the dusty passage way. They stopped, panting, right on the other side of the tapestry and Harry poked his head out. "No one's there," he said. They slipped out and, as quietly as they could they slunk back to their common room. The Fat Lady had returned and, though she gave them a suspicious look, she opened up when they gave her the proper password.

Once back in the deserted common room they all stared at one another.

"Who," Hermione demanded in a querulous voice, "would put a Cerberus in the school? That's dangerous! That's irresponsible! That's… that's not a good idea."

"I guess now we know why the third floor corridor is off limits," Draco muttered.

"But _why_?" Hermione asked again.

"Why does there have to be a reason?" Draco asked.

"Well, didn't you see what it was standing on?"

Draco and Harry both gave Hermione looks that might be best described as 'blank' so she filled them in. "It was standing on a trap door." They still looked confused so she elaborated. "It's _guarding_ something."

Harry's eyes began to gleam. "Guarding something?" he repeated.

"Oh, no," Draco said.

"I think we have to find out what," Harry said. "It's… it's an _obligation_."

"An 'obligation'?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

Harry turned to Draco, nearly vibrating with excitement. "What would Sirius say if we told him there was a three-headed dog standing on something?"

Draco began to smile. "He'd tell us to find out what, of course."

"And not to get caught," Harry said.

"This is a bad, bad idea," Hermione said. She stomped her foot and both boys looked from her face to her foot and snickered. "A _bad idea_ ," she said again.

"So," Harry asked, "how do you get past a three-headed dog?"

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Thank you again for all your lovely support! I very much appreciate it! Onwards!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Minerva McGonagall rubbed her forehead. The sense of horrible foreboding was not going away.

She remembered James Potter well. He'd been a delightful, clever, vibrant boy with a mischievous streak that stretched from Hogwarts to London. He found trouble with an ease that even the Weasley twins couldn't match. He'd also had parents who kept him at least mostly restrained.

His son had, it would seem, inherited his father's charm, his flying skill, and, to her dismay, that ability to find trouble. And instead of being brought up with the restraining influence of Charles and Dorea Potter, he'd been raised by Sirius Black.

Sirius Black.

Just the memory of that boy made her want to open the bottom drawer of her desk and pull out the bottle of fire-whiskey she kept to indulge in after especially unpleasant parent conferences. Everyone thought their child was the next Merlin and she'd sat through more than her fair share of meetings where she tried to explain to proud, if delusional, parents that actually little Renora was, while certainly not a squib, unlikely to set the world on fire with her magical talents and that, no, little Eriadnus was not a prodigy even if he had potty trained early.

Sirius Black had made James Potter look reasonable. Sirius Black didn't just _find_ trouble, he pulled out a treasure map for it and went hunting.

Instead of taking that much-wanted drink, however, Minerva just sighed and said to the Fat Lady again. "You're sure it was them?"

"Sure?" the woman nearly squawked from the picnic scene she'd come into for her weekly chat with the head of the school House she nominally guarded. "As sure as I am these pastries are stale!" She held up the offending cake with a pout.

"They are several hundred years old," Minerva said mildly. "So, out after midnight? All three of them?"

"And they'd been running." Her huffy tone indicated her opinion of that.

"Thank you," Minerva said. "I'll keep an eye on them."

A James Potter who'd been raised by Sirius Black, dragging not only Draco Malfoy in his wake but also, it would seem, Hermione Granger. It was going to be a long seven years, even without the threat of that monster looming over them, even without Albus up to tricks he refused to explain. "Make me a puzzle, Minerva," he'd said. "It's for the greater good," he'd said.

She eyed the bottom drawer. Maybe it would be good to stock up.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Swish and flick," Harry said again, muttering the words as if by repeating them he'd get the stupid feather to fly.

Draco wasn't having much more luck. He and Harry had paired off for what they had hoped would be their first exciting Charms class, the day they finally learned how to levitate objects. He'd thought it would be easy; he'd spent his whole life around people who summoned objects from across the Manor without any trouble at all. He'd never not been around magic. Magic was supposed to be easy for him.

It was not easy.

You had to move the wand in just the right way. You had to say the stupid Latin words in just the right way.

They hadn't even _studied_ Latin.

Well, he had. Thanks to that awful tutor he and Harry had been saddled with after the nannies had left, they could both read Latin fluently, not to mention French. But that was _beside the point_ because the school was expecting them to do charms in a language they weren't teaching.

Which was not, as he had been muttering to Harry for some time now, fair.

"Swish and bloody well _flick_ ," Harry said again to a feather that remained stubbornly on the table in front of him.

Neville was stammering through the exercise with a Gryddindor girl named Lavender Brown; she'd taken to literally batting her eyes at Draco and he'd taken to avoiding her. Hermione had been paired with Ron. Draco glanced over to see how they were doing and it looked like Ron was as frustrated as he was. " _Wingardium Leviosa!"_ Ron snapped at his own recalcitrant feather.

"You're doing it wrong," Hermione said. "Stop waving your arms about like that. It's swish and _flick_ , not swish and _windmill like you're about to drown_."

Draco smothered a laugh.

"Let's see you do it," Ron snapped at her.

Hermione put on her smuggest face, one Draco recognized already, and, with a tidy snap of her wand, said, " _Wingardium Leviosa."_ Her feather rose and hovered about four feet in the air above her work area.

"Look!" Professor Flitwick said with delight, "Miss Granger's got it!"

Ron made a face at her and she smirked back.

"Honestly," the boy said as they walked across the courtyard after class, "She's a nightmare. It's a miracle she has any friends."

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "She's awesome," he said. "She's got a mean unlocking spell, that one. Very handy."

Ron made another face. It was clear he didn't share Harry's opinion. Draco thrust his hands into his pockets and felt unwontedly smug and much warmer toward Ron than he had before now. "She'll grow on you," he said. "I think she's great."

"Yeah, grow on me like a fungus," Ron muttered.

"Fungus are pretty amazing," Harry said. "Remind me to tell you about the time we told Draco's dad that we'd used mushrooms we'd found out in the woods for the dinner we'd helped the house elves make. 'We went looking for wild mushrooms.'" Harry mimicked the innocent voice he'd used when telling Lucius Malfoy about their supposed contribution to the risotto the man had been enjoying.

Draco began to laugh. "He almost spit what he was eating back onto the plate at the table."

"It wasn't until mum pointed out to him that the elves wouldn't have let us use anything poisonous that he stopped choking."

"That was so great," Harry said. "He was so convinced we'd brought home death caps or something." He sighed in pleasure at the memory.

"You two are really awful," Ron said, his tone filled with admiration.

"They are," Hermione agreed; she'd come up from behind them and tucked herself between Harry and Draco as they walked to their next class.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Troll in the castle!"

Professor Quirrell, he of the excessive garlic and dramatic fashion statements, came bursting into the Halloween Feast, making it about halfway up the center aisle of the Dining Hal before he tripped on his robes and stumbled forward.

Harry looked at Draco. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"No!" Hermione snapped. "No, absolutely not. You cannot go looking for a _troll_? Are you two idiots?"

Draco poked his tongue into the side of his mouth and regarded her. "Does this mean you're not coming with us?" he asked.

She huffed at that but, as students fled the Hall to return to the safety of their dormitories she joined them in turning left when everyone else was turning right and they slipped into a now deserted corridor.

"We aren't looking for the _troll_ ," Harry explained as they tip-toed down the hall, past interested portraits, and then down a set of stairs. "We're just _exploring_."

"It's good to explore," Draco agreed. "Learn new things. You like learning new things, right?"

They passed a girl's bathroom and Hermione said, "I want to wash up and rinse my mouth. My hands are gummy from all the sweets at that feast and I feel like my teeth are sticking together."

The boys hesitated at the door but she said, "Oh, come on. It's not like anyone'll be in there." They heard a loud thump somewhere down the hall and, taken by the sudden fear that they'd be discovered, they darted into the bathroom after her. They stood, hands thrust into their pockets, trying not appear as uncomfortable as they felt in this forbidden space as Hermione scrubbed at some stubborn chocolate on one hand when the door opened with a bang and the troll lurched into the room.

"Hermione!" Draco gasped and the girl turned and shrank back against the sink. The troll lumbered toward her. It was huge and an unattractive shade of grey. It smelled terrible and its head seemed too small for its body. Draco found himself thinking that of course it had a small head; trolls were notoriously stupid so it made sense it had a tiny brain cavity.

"Do something," Harry yelled at Draco as he grabbed a roll of toilet paper sitting on a shelf by the door and hurled it at the creature.

It didn't help.

"Stupid," Draco shouted up at the troll. "Come pick on someone your own size."

The troll turned toward him, its face screwed up in confusion as if it were looking for this creature that were its own size. When its eyes managed to focus on Draco it began to stomp toward him. Harry had darted around the creature and was tugging on Hermione. "Come _on_ ," he was saying. "We have to _go_ ," but she was watching the troll with a fixed look on her face.

"How long has it been since you took a bath," Draco yelled up at it, then hissed at the other two, "What are you waiting for? Get _out_."

Hermione pulled out her wand and, her hand shaking, choked out the spell they'd learned just that morning. She swished and she flicked and Harry watched in amazement as the club the troll was carrying jerked up out of its stubby fingers, flew into the air, and then fell back down on the creature's own head. It looked surprised for a moment and then fell over.

"Is it dead?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I don't _think_ so," Harry said, poking at the heap of grey flesh with his foot, "but I think we better get out of here before we get caught."

"I'm afraid," a voice drawled from the doorway, "it is much too late for that."

The three children spun and, in horror, saw Professor Snape standing there, Professors McGonagall and Quirrell not far behind him. Harry reached up and rubbed at his head as Hermione went white.

"I knew," Snape continued, "that you were a dreadful little show off, Miss Granger, and it is already clear that Mr. Potter is in every way the spitting image of his father, but I had hoped, Mr. Malfoy, that you, at least, had sense. I see that hope was futile. What, may I ask, are the three of you doing?"

"Knocking out a troll," Harry said, his jaw set.

"Knocking out a troll," Snape repeated. "And what, pray tell, led you to search for the troll in the girl's toilet instead of going back to the dormitory as you had been instructed to do?"

"I, I'm sorry," Hermione stammered, "It's my fault."

"Oh, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said with her lips pinched. "Forgive me, but I very much doubt that."

"I just…I wanted to wash my hands and get a drink of water," she said. "They were all sticky from the Feast, and… and I'm not supposed to have sweets, you know," she continued in a rush. "My parents are dentists."

Snape raised a supercilious eyebrow and she added, "Muggle tooth healers. Sweets can rot you teeth, and I… I… I'm not allowed to have them and I felt so guilty I said I had to stop and rinse my mouth and wash my hands and… and… the troll came in and…" And with that she broke down and began to cry, great wracking sobs from the relief of not being gobbled up by a Mountain Troll at that very moment.

Professor McGonagall signed and Quirrell rubbed at his own head. He didn't seem to know quite what to make of a crying little girl. "Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said then, when that had no effect again with more bite to her tone, "Miss _Granger_ , that is quite enough. There is no need to have hysterics. Five points from Gryffindor for the lot of you not following instructions when a dangerous creature is loose in the school. Now you boys escort her back up Gryffindor Tower." Hermione continued to sob and McGonagall snapped, "Get a hold of yourself, child. You are quite fine."

"We don't get any points for knocking the troll out?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Potter, consider yourself very fortunate that I am not calling your foster-father in to speak to you about this little escapade himself," McGonagall said. "I am certainly not going to reward you for breaking rules and nearly getting yourself killed. Now get upstairs where you belong."

After the children had slipped out the door and taken off down the hallway Severus Snape turned to Minerva and said, "Do you really thinking calling Black in would be a deterrent? He'd probably cheer them on."

"I know that," Minerva said as she set to work more permanently incapacitating the troll lying passed out at her feet, "and you know that. Let us hope that Potter does not."

. . . . . . . . . .

 _A/N Thank you, lovely and thoughtful reviewers. You've been a joy. I've appreciated all the time you've taken to encourage me to work on this. More, it's made me incredibly happy to have people say they've taken my words about how important it is for writers to get feedback from their readers and that they've gone off and reviewed other fics. I hope you all keep on doing that. You have the power to make a writer's day, to energize them to write more, and to make them feel valued and appreciated, and all it takes is adding a few minutes to your reading time to type, "Thank you, I liked this" in that little review box._


	11. Chapter 11 (Quidditch & Christmas)

"Quidditch," Draco said with glee, rubbing his hands together.

"At last," Harry agreed.

Neville and Hermione exchanged, 'we're just here because they made us' looks of mutual sympathy as the boys in front of them bounded out in the direction of outside and the pitch for the first game of the year. Harry and Draco had spent the week telling increasingly unlikely tales of their own skill on brooms and bragging how if they were on the team they'd surely win. Oliver Wood, the team captain, had snorted but had been overheard saying to the Weasley twins, who flew as Beaters for the team, that he looked forward to next year because, "Did you see those two fly the day Hooch tested the first years out of lessons?"

As the four children made their way down the hall to watch, but not participate in, the Slytherin/Gryffindor match that traditionally kicked off the Quidditch season, a blond boy with brown eyes and a sneer pushed past them as he went the other direction.

"Hey," Draco said. "Watch where you're going."

"Some of us are interested in things besides what a bunch of meatheads can do with balls," the boy said.

Harry snorted. "You just say that because you know you'll never make any team, ever, Smith."

"I'd much rather be in a House that values hard work," the boy sneered. "Not your ridiculous, over-muscled athletes."

Hermione began to look ruffled and Harry said, loudly enough that his voice carried through the corridor, "Don't mind him, Hermione. He just wants to go back to his room and wank in peace while everyone's at the game."

Draco laughed and even Neville smiled before ducking his head.

. . . . . . . . . .

The term ended and everyone went home for Christmas break. Ron waved goodbye and said he'd see them all in January. "Maybe Scabbers will have moved by then," he said and they all laughed.

. . . . . . . . . .

The Manor gleamed with gold. Narcissa had charmed the curtains to be gold. She'd charmed the plates to have golden rims. The Christmas tree glittered with so many golden ornaments it was hard to see the green of the branches. Guests milled about in the smaller of the two ballrooms, drinks in hands, as house elves bobbed about carrying trays laden with starters.

"Really, Lucius," Tod Goyle was saying as he cornered his host. "Gryffindor?"

Lucius raised his brows. The quizzical expression looked only faintly menacing. "I know. I must say I quite pity poor Minerva McGonagall. Years of dealing with nothing but thickheaded jocks with a penchant for daring one another to jump off the tower and now she has a child in her care who has been raised by Narcissa and myself. I am surprised she didn't retire the moment that Hat said Gryffindor." He permitted himself a slight smile. "I'm sure she's up at that castle in Scotland getting thoroughly drunk now that she's sent all her charges home for the holiday."

"But… Gryffindor," the man sputtered.

Lucius sighed. "Really, Tod," he said, "What do you expect me to do? Disown my son? My heir? He was a Malfoy before he was a Gryffindor and he will be a Malfoy long after school affiliations mean little more than where you sit at alumni events." He took a sip of wine and then scratched his nose. "You – and your son – might do well to remember that."

"But," Tod Goyle seemed to be struggling to find words to express himself. Lucius considered that perhaps joining an organization that had recruited this man as well had been his first mistake. Pureblood supremacy was hard to believe in after spending any time at all with some of the ideology's more virulent adherents. "The girl," he said at last. "Your son is spending time with one of Gryffindor's little Mudbloods."

Lucius shrugged. "When he was three Draco picked up a dead bird and wanted to keep it. At seven he dragged an entire deer leg he'd found in the woods home and wanted to know if he could do an art project with it. I didn't waste time then worrying that he'd somehow turn into a naturalist and I'm hardly going to waste my time now worrying he's going to marry some girl he's friends with at eleven." He took a sip from his glass. "The boy will need secretaries and flunkies and such when he enters political life. He certainly won't be hiring his friends' wives for those positions and a girl he can trust because of childhood affection? One who knows she has no chance of rising higher than copying old parchments without him? I think that could go quite well." He paused and took another sip. "Quite well, indeed. Times are changing, my friend. We need to change with them if we want to stay on top where we belong."

The man nodded, the gesture slow but conceding the point. "You've always been a bastard who looked to the future, Lucius."

Lucius looked across the room. "Excuse me, would you? Narcissa is giving me one of her 'husband summoning' looks."

Lucius smiled at Goyle and walked over to Narcissa, who'd just separated herself from a clique of women in shoes too high and dresses that displayed their lack of interest in food. "How is dear Goyle," she asked.

"Pompous, unintelligent and aghast," Lucius said. "As was to be expected. But persuadable. And the ladies?"

"You use that word," Narcissa murmured. "I fear my mother would not have extended it to them."

Lucius took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles. "I am grateful every day to have a partner as beautiful as you, as brilliant, and as, what is the word?"

"Lethal?" she asked.

"Certainly where your family is concerned," Lucius said.

. . . . . . . . . .

The children's party had been scheduled for the day after the adult gathering. Draco whined and nagged and begged and, with a tolerant smile, Narcissa had agreed that he could add Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom to the small handful of friends he usually included. "But," she said, "Don't expect the Longbottom boy to come. I'd be shocked if old August Longbottom ever let him step foot in this house."

"Why?" Draco asked, lower lip thrust out.

"It's a long story," Narcissa said. "And one I don't want tainting your friendship. Suffice to say that I expect her to R.S.V.P. no."

She did, with a Howler that expressed her shock that the Malfoys would have the temerity to think for one moment that she would allow her grandson anywhere near them. Ever. They should be ashamed. Lucius watched as the message burst into flames and scattered ash all over their carpet.

"Her voice was always a bit shrill," he observed. "I assume the Granger girl is not as loathe to accept our hospitality?"

"She has no reason to hate us," Narcissa pointed out.

"I fear, in time, she might," Lucius said.

"Probably," Narcissa ceceded.

Hermione Granger did attend the party, as did Pansy Parkinson. The two girls arrived within moments of one another and both frowned before Pansy said, her tone filled with the brittle courtesy of a child who'd been reminded a dozen times before being dropped off that she was to _Be polite. Not like the incident at Easter, Pansy. Be polite. I mean it_ , "Nice to see you, Granger."

Hermione stuck her hand out and the two girls shook and then Pansy said, "I wonder if they did the sweets table this year."

"The what?" Hermione asked, following the dark-haired girl as she clearly knew where she was going.

"Last year there was a whole table with nothing but bowls of different holiday sweets," Pansy said, "And all the crackers were filled with Every Flavor Beans. I took home enough to last all vacation."

Hermione sighed. "I'm not allowed to have sweets," she admitted. "So I can't bring any home."

"Really?" Pansy sounded horrified by that. "Not at all?"

"Well," Hermione blushed. "I have them at school, of course."

They'd reached the small room set up for the party and Pansy's hopes were realized. Along with a tray of sandwiches there was an entire sweets table, fizzy drinks charmed to turn red or green depending on what child picked them up, and a giant basket of Christmas crackers sitting under a tree decorated with green and gold. Theo, Harry and Draco were already there. Harry was sprawled out in an antique chair, legs thrown over the arm and a red fizzy drink in his hand. Theo had his hands stuffed into his pockets and looked nervous and uncomfortable, as did Draco.

"Pansy," Harry smirked from his chair. "I see you decided to come even though Draco's in Gryffindor."

"Don't be a jerk, Harry," she said.

"Harry," Hermione said. "That was mean."

"She's been a right prat to us both all year," Harry said. "So's Theo."

"It's hard," Pansy said, her hands on her hips. "You know how Blaise is and now he has those two idiot goons following him everywhere." She grabbed a handful of sweets, ignoring the sandwiches. "If I talked to you he'd spend all his time hissing 'blood traitor' at me too."

"Really?" Hermione sounded horrified as she picked up a sandwich. "Why?"

"Pureblood supremacy," Theo said.

"Is kind of stupid," Harry said from his chair. Theo looked like he was going to argue and Harry said, his voice louder, "Greg Goyle is a pureblood. Vincent Crabbe is a pureblood. They're both stupid as rocks. I'm a half-blood and you _know_ I can outfly you – "

"There is more to life than flying," Pansy muttered but all the boys ignored her.

" – and Hermione's just as clever as you are."

"Just as!" Hermione exclaimed, offended.

"Theo's brilliant," Pansy said, popping a sweet into her mouth. "You're just swotty."

"And you're… you're…"

"Girl fight!" Harry said, and they both turned on him.

"I'll have you know – " Hermione began.

"Two women can have a disagreement – " Pansy said at the same time.

" – and that doesn't mean – "

" – some boy gets to sit there and say –"

" - girl fight."

"Pig," they both finished in unison.

Harry held his hands up. "Someone help me. They're attacking! Attack of the killer girls!"

Theo was laughing and the sound filled the room; it couldn't fail to charm anyone. "Fly your way out of this one!"

Hermione turned to Theo, captivated by that laugh but also suddenly shy. "Is it true that you think… the pureblood thing… I mean…"

He ducked his head. "It's… yeah. I mean. Until I went to Hogwarts I hardly even knew any half-bloods. Just Harry, really. And… there aren't any in Slytherin, you know?"

"I'd noticed that," she said before taking a bite of her sandwich.

"You're probably the first Mud –"

Draco coughed.

"First Muggle-born I've ever talked to," Theo admitted.

There was a long moment while everyone stood around. "You know who the real prat is?" Harry said in the silence.

"Who?" Theo asked. He and Hermione had given each other clumsy smiles during that silent moment but everyone wanted to move on.

"Zacharias Smith," Harry said. "It's like his very existence offends me."

Draco began to smile. "We could," he said, eyeing Theo, "come at him from all sides."

"He's a pig," Pansy said, "and a jerk. He's even mean to that sweet little Hannah Abbott who wouldn't hurt a fly."

"She's not smart enough to catch one," Theo muttered.

"How would you know?" Draco demanded.

"I've seen her studying in the library," Theo said. "She's thick."

"Why were _you_ in the library?" Pansy demanded. "You never need to study."

"I like the library," he said.

"I like the library, too," Hermione said, and the two children exchanged another smile.

"Libraries are great, aren't they?" Theo asked. "I love to go sit in the back where no one can bother me and just find a subject I like and go up and down the shelf seeing what else there is."

"Me too," Hermione said. "Did you ever read – " then she stopped and looked shy again.

"What?" he asked.

"It's just…you didn't," she said. "It's a Muggle story."

"Oh." Theo looked down at his toes. "Maybe you could loan me a copy?" he finally said, his voice squeaking a little at the end of the sentence.

Draco looked from one to the other, starting to frown.

"I could do that," Hermione said. "I'll bring it back at the end of holiday. But, uh, how will I get it to you?"

They all looked around. "I can't hang out with you," Theo admitted. "Not at school."

"Right," Hermione muttered.

"You'll give it to me in a girl's toilet and I'll pass it along," Pansy said. "No need to make this some kind of _thing_. We just can't… not at school. Not where anyone can see."

"We could meet in the library?" Theo asked.

"That would work," Hermione said.

Harry took an Every Flavor Bean from his lap and pegged it at Draco. "Why do you look like someone just pissed on your foot?" he asked.

Draco grabbed a handful of beans from the sweets table and threw them all back at once. "Maybe because you're throwing beans at me, you git," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N – Insert sassy author's note here.**

 **(Seriously, thank you all for your kind words of support.)**


	12. Chapter 12

Pansy and Hermione met in the girl's toilet nearest the library after they returned to Hogwarts. Hermione passed over a copy of _Matilda_ for Theo and Pansy handed her a bag of sweets.

"Where did you get this?" Hermione asked in guilty delight as she opened the brown sack and looked in at the collection of forbidden treasures.

"Nicked it from Draco's party," Pansy said. "Figured your parents wouldn't let you have any because they're crazy Muggles so I got some for you too."

"They're dentists, not crazy," Hermione said, reaching in for a chocolate frog.

"Whatever," said Pansy. "Theo said to tell you he has a free period after your remedial flying lessons on Thursday so if you happened to be in the back of the library he'd see you there to return the book."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

To Hermione's regret, Harry did not forget about his plan to figure out what the three-headed dog was guarding over their holiday. He talked about how to get past it over breakfast. He talking about how to get past it while he and Draco hung on the edges of the railings at the Quidditch pitch and watched the teams practice. He talked about how to get past it while eating some of the endless cakes Narcissa Malfoy sent to school.

When Harry Potter began trying to figure out how to get past the dog while Hermione was trying to write her essay for History of Magic she finally lost control and snapped at him, "Maybe instead of just talking about it all the time you could go to the library and do some research on Cerberuses?"

"That's _brilliant_ ," he said. "Hermione, you're the best."

Any thought that having to do actual work would make him drop the project, however, was soon forgotten as Harry dragged Neville after him and they spent an entire Saturday looking for ways to get around large, three-headed dogs. "They like pretty girls," Harry said upon returning to the common room and spreading his notes out on a table, "but we're out of luck there."

"Hey," Hermione said, hitting him in the arm.

"Legendary beauty kind of pretty," Neville said. "Psyche kind of pretty."

"Oh," Hermione said, somewhat mollified. "I guess that's a pretty high standard. I mean, she made the god of love fall for her so -"

"I think you're beautiful," Draco said.

"She's not that pretty," Harry said. "Cupid won't be building her a castle anytime soon." Draco kicked Harry who muttered, "Watch it, you prat," as he bent down to rub at his shin.

"What else," Hermione asked, blushing a little at Draco's announcement and eager to move on.

"Bread. They like some kind of special bread."

"Any information on what kind of bread?" Draco asked. Neville shook his head.

"Well, that isn't promising," Draco said.

"And music," Harry declared with the air of someone who's found the answer and was leading up to it. The way Draco and Hermione failed to appreciate his genius clearly rankled because he said again, "Music. Music puts them to sleep."

"What kind of music," Hermione asked.

"Lyre music!"

Draco and Hermione exchanged glances and then Hermione said, her tone suggesting Harry had lost his wits, "I had no idea you played the lyre."

"Well, I don't," Harry said, "but how hard can it be?"

"Let's hope the dog isn't a music critic," Draco muttered.

"Where would you even get a lyre?" Neville asked.

Harry smirked. "I'll ask Sirius for one, of course."

. . . . . . . . . . .

"He wants a what?" Remus looked up from his chocolate milk and stared at Sirius. The mail had come bringing with it the usual claims that school was going just fine and that, no, Harry wasn't getting into any trouble and that, yes, he was doing his homework and that, no, he hadn't gotten a single detention in over a month so please stop asking. The boy had also made a weird request.

"A lyre," Sirius said. "What's a lyre?"

"It's a musical instrument," Remus said. "Kind of like a little harp. What the devil is he up to?"

"I don't know," Sirius said. "But if we send him one I bet we find out."

"Probably because McGonagall will send us a Howler about it," Remus muttered.

"She loves us," Sirius insisted.

Remus just looked at him.

"So," said Sirius after it was clear Remus had no intention of dignifying that assertion with any kind of answer. "Do you know where we can buy the kid a lyre?"

Remus sighed. "Yes," he admitted, setting his mug down. "C'mon. Let's go."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco leaned over Hermione's shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Color coding my notes," she said, busy with five different highlighting quills. "Exams are – "

"Months away," Harry said from where he sat with his feet up on a table and a new chocolate frog package he was busily unwrapping.

" – coming up," Hermione said with loud insistence, "And I need to be prepared." She looked at Draco. "I'm going to make a study schedule next. Do you want me to make one for you too?"

"Uh, that's OK," he said trying not to sound as horrified as he felt.

"Swot," Ron said from the chair across the table. He was working on an essay of his own and he swore as Harry's chocolate frog hopped over his parchment, leaving brown, melty smudges in its wake. "Harry," he whinged, "you let your stupid frog get away again and now I have to start over."

Hermione rolled her eyes and cast a parchment clean up spell on the sheet for him. The chocolate stains disappeared as did several ink spatters, a jam thumbprint, and a handful of crossed out words. "Thanks, Hermione," Ron said, startled.

"See what you can do when you're a swot?" she asked, folding up her own notes with careful precision and tucking them into a folder that Draco couldn't help but notice was filled with a collection of other folded and organized notes. He thought with some concern about his own bag, which had crumpled papers from before Halloween, old sweets wrappers, and at least one pair of dirty socks. Maybe it was time to study a little more.

Harry interrupted those thoughts. "Nicholas Flamel?" he asked, turning the Chocolate Frog card backward and forward. "Who the heck is that?"

"You could try reading it," Hermione suggested, making both Draco and Ron snicker.

"Blah blah blah," Harry said, "has lived for bloody ever, over 600 years – sheesh, who'd want to live that long? Do you think you just keep aging so you're like – "

"Like the Cumean Sibyl?" Hermione asked. She seemed impressed Harry knew who that was until he asked, "Who?" at which point she sighed.

"She asked for immortal life and Apollo – you know who Apollo is, right?" Harry rolled his eyes so she continued, "Well, he didn't give her eternal youth to go with it."

"Ewww," Ron opined. "So she just got older and older and older…"

"Forever," Hermione said. "Exactly."

"Who'd want to live forever if they couldn't be young the whole time? What's the point if you just turn into a monster?" Harry asked.

Hermione made a face and held out her hand. "Well, is Nicholas Flamel still aging?" she asked.

Harry didn't hand the card over, just squinted at the photograph on the front. "Doesn't look like it," he decided. "Looks like he stayed whatever age he was when he made the Philosopher's Stone, though that wasn't exactly young."

"The what?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Seems to be the thing that's kept him immortal." He dropped the card into his bag. "Not like it matters. Immortality. Being old forever. Gross."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry didn't unwrap the package Sirius and Remus sent him until he was tucked away back in his own room away from the prying eyes of adults and the narrowing ones of Hermione. That meant he had to wait until after dinner, after public study time in the common room, after curfew.

"What is it?" Neville asked as Harry untied the twine and pulled out first one box and then what seemed to be an envelope.

"Read the note," Draco said.

" _Dear Harry,"_ the boy read. " _Remus and I are so pleased by your interest in music. I understand studying an instrument can improve one's Arithmancy, not that I would know from personal experience. I'm sure you don't have any untoward plans other than the arts and I look forward to hearing you play this summer. Love, Sirius."_

"He knows you're up to something," Draco said as he ran a finger over the lyre that had been in the box.

Harry shrugged. "He sent it anyway, didn't he?" he asked before continuing. " _P.S. I've enclosed your father's invisibility cloak. I'm sure it will be of great help to you as you work on your music. Don't tell Narcissa; she'd kill me. ~ S._ "

"You have an invisibility cloak," Draco said, awed. "Do you have any idea how much those things cost?"

"We _have_ to go exploring," said Harry. "Right now."

"It's after curfew," Neville said, flushing as his voice squeaked on the last word. "What if we get caught?"

Harry pulled a silvery cloak out from the envelope and shook it out. It was easily large enough to cover all three of them. "We won't get caught," he said with confidence. "We have an invisibility cloak!"

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"An invisibility cloak?" Minerva McGonagall looked at the Fat Lady in disbelief. "Sirius Black sent them an _invisibility cloak_? Has the man lost his mind?"

"They seemed to forget it wasn't a sound muffling cloak as well," the Fat Lady said. "They really were adorable, Minerva, their little feet poking out every once in a while. I followed them by the sound of their giggling through three hallways before they ended up breaking into an old storage room."

Minerva sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I guess they can't get into too much trouble in a storage room but I really don't understand what that man is thinking. Thank you."

"Of course," the Fat Lady said, trying to control her smile behind a prim tone before she burst out one more time with, " _So_ adorable, Minerva."

After the portrait had sashayed back off to her own frame Minerva pulled open her drawer, poured herself two fingers of whiskey, and began writing a letter to Narcissa Malfoy.

. . . . . . . . .

"What's that?" Harry asked.

They'd shut the door to the old room behind them. There was nothing in the whole space except a big mirror.

"Mirror of Erised," Neville read, "but…"

"It isn't us," said Harry, looking at the mirror with wide eyes. "I mean, I don't see you two. I just see…" he trailed off as he looked at the ginger-haired woman with his eyes and a man who looked so much like himself, only older. They stood behind him, smiling and waving at him. The woman, who must be his mother, put her hand over her mouth as if she were going to cry. He reached a hand out toward the mirror, wanting to touch them.

"What do you see," Draco asked. His own voice was very quiet.

"My parents," Harry said. "I… I see my parents."

"So do I," Neville said. He'd sunk down to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest as he stared into the mirror. "They know me," he added in a whisper. "They know who I am."

"What do you see," Harry asked Draco, not turning away from the mirror, but the blond boy shook his head and wouldn't answer.

"What is this?" Neville asked. "Why do we all see something different? It's a _mirror;_ it's just supposed to reflect what's in front of it."

"Do you think it… it shows us the future?" Draco asked.

"But my parents are dead," Harry said in frustration. "That can't be it."

"Things that can never be?" Neville said. He hadn't gotten up from the floor or pulled his eyes away from the mirror.

"I hope not," Draco said, looking down at the floor and rubbing his face.

"Things that are impossible and unfair?" Neville continued, his voice rising. "Things that are wrong and cruel?" He stood up then, the motion slow and hard as if he were wrenching his body out of tar. "I hate this thing. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it." He shoved at Harry. "This is awful. _Awful._ It's a lie! We need to go back to our room, we need to go back _now_."

"Okay," Harry said, taken aback by Neville's vehemence, and he held out the cloak for them all to huddle back under and they moved away; before Harry shut the door to the storage room, though, he turned and gave the mirror one last longing glance.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Yes, I know in canon Flamel doesn't get his own Frog card, just a note on Dumbledore's, but he should.**_

 _ **Thank you all for your lovely notes and words of support. I appreciate them so much.**_

 _ **Quick rec: Burn, by**_ _ **dhrtrashqueen**_ _ **. It's pretty much my favorite dramione trope and she just started but I'm super excited. Linked out of my favorites :)**_


	13. Chapter 13

Flying lessons frustrated Draco because Hermione was so terrified of falling off the brooms. "This isn't natural," she'd hiss and he'd stare at her, confused. What wasn't natural or normal about flying on a broom? It wasn't like flying carpets; those were weird. He'd been on one once on a family vacation and you just sat there and had to trust that someone else would steer the thing properly. Draco never wanted to do _that_ again. But a broom?

She'd gotten better. Neville, well, Neville was still struggling to get the broom to fly up into his hand but Hermione had gotten to the point of being able to glide from one end of the pitch to the other. She wouldn't go higher than a few feet off the ground and she moved so slowly Draco wanted to scream but she was better.

"You're just afraid," he said after class one day. He'd spent part of the lesson with his legs hooked around his broom, dangling upside down, seeing how fast he could go before Madam Hooch told him to stop. Turned out the answer was, 'pretty darn fast.' "You're a really good witch so it's not that, you're just scared."

"I'll _fall_ ," she said, kicking the grass as they walked back toward the castle together. "And that will _hurt_."

"You won't fall," Draco said.

"Have you ever fallen?"

Draco thought of the time he'd broken his arm in two places because he'd lost his balance while going too fast, and of the time he'd broken his wrist because he fell off and landed juts wrong, and of the time he'd fallen into a rock and gotten a nasty bruise and cut on his chin that took two weeks to heal and turned shades of purple and yellow that had made his mother cringe. "Nah," he said. "It just doesn't happen. And you know what a crazy flier I am. If I've been fine, you'll be fine."

"Are you sure," she asked.

"Absolutely," Draco lied.

She pulled her bag up higher on her shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet Theo in the library to get my book back," she said. "You coming with me?"

"You're meeting Theo?" Draco nearly huffed. He was the one who spent an hour a week in that absurd flying class trying to convince the witch to fly faster than an elderly auntie with rheumatism and now she was going to go meet Theo and talk about books. Life was really unfair.

"Yeah," she said, looking over at him through the lashes he'd noticed were really very long. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," Draco muttered and thrust his hands into his pockets and followed her to the library on a day he didn't have to study and didn't have to do homework so they could meet stupid Theodore Nott and give him some stupid book.

Hermione gave him a look that might be described as 'puzzled' and led him to the library, past the librarian who smiled at Hermione and gave Draco a look that suggested she thought he couldn't be trusted with printed materials, and all the way to a back corner where no one could spot them. Theo was sitting in a worn chair, his feet propped up on a ledge that had old Potions periodicals stacked on it. He looked up at the pair of them and smiled his crooked smile at Hermione.

Draco huffed again. "You talking to us lowly Gryffindors here at school where someone could see you?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Don't be like that, Draco," she said.

He scowled at her and, pushing Theo's feet off the ledge, sat down on it. "You think you're friends with a guy just because you've known him your whole life."

"I'm sure it's hard," Hermione said. "Some of those people in Slytherin are kind of jerks."

"My parents were both in Slytherin," Draco said, crossing him arms.

"So is Blaise Zabini," Hermione said, crossing her own arms and glaring right back at him.

Theo interrupted them by holding a book out toward Hermione. Draco leaned over and read the title. _Mathilda_. So she had loaned him a Muggle book. And Theo – _Theo_ – had read it.

"Did you like it?" Hermione asked shyly. She'd unfolded her arms and pulled up a small stool used for reaching higher shelves and was sitting down on it as she spoke.

Theo nodded. "It made me think how awful it would be to be a witch and… and not _know_ it. To just have stuff happen and have everyone think you were a freak and not just know that it's accidental magic." He looked down. "I'd never thought about that before. Was it weird for you?"

Hermione nodded. "I wore my first copy of this out," she admitted. "It was just… I thought I was the only one and here was this girl and stuff happened to her too and… yeah, it was weird. I'm glad you like the book."

Theo pushed another one at her. "One for you," he said, sounding diffident and not meeting her eyes. "One of my favorites."

Draco read the cover backward from his seat on the ledge and his eyes widened. He knew that book. The hero was trapped by Muggles planning to burn witches and wizards and had to escape without using magic because he was underage. He'd read it himself under the covers and scared himself with how dangerous Muggles were, how they were everywhere and just waiting to catch any witch or wizard foolish enough to let on he was magical. "You're loaning her _that_?" he asked.

"It was my favorite," Theo said, still not meeting Hermione's eyes. "After I read hers I thought maybe…" He trailed off and then tried to snag the book back from her, either considering its content for the first time or reconsidering giving it to her but she'd already put the book into his bag and missed the abortive movement.

"I can't wait to read it," she said.

"I should go," Theo muttered, "before someone comes looking for me."

"I'll give it back next week?" she asked. Theo jerked his head down in what might have been a nod. "Should I pick out one for you?"

"If you want," he said. "Look, I really have to go." He almost fell over his feet as he hurried away and Hermione stared after him, confused.

"What was that all about?" she asked Draco.

He glanced at the corner of the book peeking out of her bag and said, "I don't know."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Neville," Hermione said, "something's bothering you."

The pudgy boy looked at her and, rubbing his arms said, "Can you keep a secret."

When he showed her the mirror she stood on her tiptoes to look at the "Erised" written across the top and then looked at the mirror itself, and then back at the name.

"What is it?" Neville asked her. "What do you see?"

"Just a friend," she said. "You see your parents?"

He nodded and at her crossed arms sighed. "They… they aren't well," he said. "They're in the hospital. They… they were hurt in the war and now…"

"You don't have to tell me," she said as he started to tremble. "And what you want most is for them to be – "

"To know who I am," he muttered, his eyes on the floor so he wouldn't see. "And in that mirror they do."

"Is it an anagram?" she asked out loud as she stared at the mirror.

"A what?" He sounded confused, as if she weren't making sense.

"The name. It's not a real word, erised. If we rearranged the letters would it – "

"Desire." Neville said the word, his voice shaking. "It's desire backward, like a mirror shows things in reverse."

"It's what we want to be true," Hermione said, looking back at her own vision. "You're right. It isn't true, it's… this is awful," she said. "Who would put this in a school? No wonder you've been upset." She shook her head and grabbed Neville's hand. "We have to go. This thing… let's go."

Neville let her lead him out of the room and down the hall. They were almost at the portrait hole that led into their dorm before he said, "Don't tell."

She took his hand and squeezed his fingers. "I won't," she promised.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry waited until everyone was asleep before he snuck out the see the mirror again. Even the Fat Lady was dozing in her portrait frame and didn't see him slip away. He looked down the hall as far as he could before he opened the door to the storage room and sat in front of the mirror again, watching his mother smile at him and his father hold her hand and beam with pride.

He had Sirius. He _loved_ Sirius. He had Remus and Narcissa and Lucius and Draco and he felt ashamed that he wanted this too, that he missed these people he'd never known when so many people loved him but to see his own eyes in another person's face was intoxicating. Addictive.

It made him realize how much had been taken from him in that war; it made him feel the faintest stirrings of real hatred for the man who'd killed them. The man he'd apparently managed to kill as a baby though all he remembered was a flash of green light and screaming. He wished he could do it again, do it when he could remember.

When he held his hand out to the mirror as if he could touch the figures within it he heard a faint sound behind him and spun on the floor, fumbling to pull his wand out as if he could somehow battle even an older student much less whatever adult was probably out and catching him here. He didn't see anyone, however, and slowly turned to look back at the mirror, lost again in the vision of his living parents. He would come here and visit them every night; it would be like they had never died.

When he went back the following night, however, the mirror was gone.

. . . . . . . . . .

The owl looked rather disgracefully smug, in Sirius' opinion, when it dropped the Howler off. He would have said, if you'd asked him the day before, that owls didn't have facial expressions but this one did and what it looked like was smug. Very, very smug.

"What did I do now?" Sirius muttered as he took the red envelope with a resentful scowl at Remus.

"Should I make a list?" Remus asked. Sirius narrowed his eyes as Remus held out his hand and began to tick items off on his fingers. "You drank all the milk and put the empty carton back. You called that girl 'Jessica' this morning.' –"

"So?" Sirius demanded.

"Her name was Elonie."

"Oh" Sirius looked somewhat embarrassed by that. "But how would Narcissa know about that?" he demanded, "And why would she care?"

Remus shrugged. "Narcissa knows everything. Always. You should know that by now. But I suspect this is about that minor matter of you sending Harry a lyre _and_ an invisibility cloak."

"Why would she care about a lyre?"

Sirius opened the envelope and braced himself. Narcissa managed to fill the room without screaming. It didn't even seem like she'd raised her voice for all that the sound made Sirius flinch. "An invisibility cloak, Sirius? Really? Are you the biggest idiot to ever walk the face of this earth? Is it your goal that the boys get into more trouble than they can handle? Do you frequently go around handing children lit matches and pointing out explosives? I'd say I'm shocked at your complete lack of judgment but I'm not." There was a brief pause before she added, "Lucius says hello and that if Draco so much as gets a scratch as a result of that cloak he'll start a rumor you have the pox and you'll never find a woman willing to have a cheap, meaningless fling with you ever again."

Sirius swallowed hard at the threat and looked over at Remus who was laughing so hard tears were running down his face.

"Hey," Sirius said as the paper burst into flame, "you helped get the lyre."

"She doesn't care about the lyre, you idiot," Remus gasped out around his laughter. "She cares about the cloak."

"It belonged to James," Sirius protested. "Harry should have it. Do you know how much of a fit I had to throw to get that back from Dumbledore?" That had been an argument to remember and Sirius remained sure that Dumbledore had only finally released the cloak to him when he'd insisted he didn't want it for himself but for Harry.

"I wonder what they're doing with it," Remus mused. At that, Sirius sat down and pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer. "Are you apologizing to Narcissa?" Remus asked.

"Hell no," Sirius said. "I'm asking Harry what adventures he's had."

Remus laughed again.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Thank you for all your lovely comments. I so appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts.**_

 _ **To answer some questions: One lovely reader commented that maybe I should tackle some darker themes. This fic won't be doing that in any real way but pretty much everything else I've written (other than Green Girl and Muddy) does. This will be less constrained by canon Green Girl. Yes, I plan to do all 7 years plus a brief excursion into post-graduation.**_

 _ **The best way to ask a question is tumblr, where I'm also 'Colubrina', especially now that 's reviews are wonky and while I get emails that you have reviewed I can't respond to them and they aren't appearing on the site.**_


	14. Chapter 14

"Have you read this?" Hermione cornered Draco where he had been sitting on one of the rattier couches in their common room and shoved the book Theo had loaned her under his nose. Draco pulled away from the book before she hit him in the nose with it but that just made her push it closer to his face. "Well," she demanded, "have you?"

"It's a very popular book," Draco said at last, which only made her look more outraged.

Is this what wizards believe," she said, nearly flinging her body down onto the couch next to him.

"Don't you have a Potions essay to work on or something?" he asked desperately but Hermione just glared at him until he mumbled, "Yes," under his breath.

"But this is wrong," she said. "No one wants to kill witches. People don't even believe witches exist!"

"Well, yeah," Draco said. "But if they did – "

"Muggles don't just go about killing people for no reason," Hermione said in a heated voice but then she faltered a little and Draco looked at her, his expression a little too alert. "Well, most of them don't," she said, a bit more defensive now. "My parents didn't get upset I was a witch. And no one actually burns people in the town square because they think they're witches."

"They don't?" Draco asked, very cautiously. "I mean, I kind of know that because Harry's mum was a Muggle and Sirius adored her and he… he says she was the nicest person he's ever known. But her sister is… they don't go visit her. Not ever. And she's a Muggle. A real Muggle, not like you or Harry's mum."

"But my parents are real Muggles," Hermione said, still upset, "and no, no one burns witches. No one's done that since the Middle Ages!"

"But they _did_ do it, right?" Draco pressed and Hermione crossed her arms.

"But this book makes it sound like they're doing it _now_ ," she said. "And that's not right. No wonder Theo was so nasty about… is this what _you_ think too?"

"No!" The word exploded out of Draco. "Of course not," he said, then, "I wish Theo hadn't given you that book."

She'd slumped against the side of the couch and he watched her nervously. Pansy would have just kept yelling and his mum would have gotten cool and scary but Hermione seemed to be thinking and he was unsure which was she would go. He didn't expect what she came up with.

"You have to meet my parents," she said. "You and Theo too. And Pansy. And Neville. And… any of you who read this book as kids and think this is _true._ That Muggles are somehow awful and dangerous just because they can't do magic."

Draco swallowed hard. Go into Muggle areas. Go into a Muggle _house_. Hermione saw how nervous he was and gave him a very dirty look. "I went to your party," she pointed out.

He gave her a wan smile. "That sounds great," he said, the response sounding weak even to him. Her look got, if possible, even dirtier and she flounced off, the offending book still clutched in her fingers.

"You had to give her that book," Draco muttered under his breath as he contemplated how many times he could manage to punch Theo before the git would retaliate. " _That_ book."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Okay," Harry said. He had notes spread out around him, his lyre in one hand, and a look of utter mischief in his eyes. "Who's in?"

"This is a really bad idea," Neville said. "You're just going to lose points for Gryffindor."

"Neville's out," Harry said. "Ron?"

"My mother would send a Howler to end all Howlers if she found out I snuck out after curfew to try to sneak past a three-headed dog as a prank," Ron said. "And she has a very loud voice and Professor MgGonagall and her are friends from way back. No way."

"Ron's out," Harry said. "Draco?"

Draco grinned at him but didn't answer.

Hermione sighed and plucked the invisibility cloak from the ground at Harry's feet. "I'm not letting you two idiots go off alone," she said.

"Great," Harry said. "Let's go then."

And off they went. Retracing their way to the giant dog was easy enough and despite Harry's utter lack of musical talent the lyre did the trick and the dog yawned and lay down its three heads and listened to the music with smiles on its doggy faces before drifting off into sleep.

"Voila," Harry whispered as they pushed one very large paw off the trap door and lowered themselves down.

"Devil's Snare," Hermione exclaimed when she landed on the plant that cushioned their fall. "That's – no, don't move!" Both boys were so already so entangled in the vines of the plant that they could barely twitch, however, so her advice was pointless, and the vines were reaching for her.

"Fire," Draco said, his voice squeaking. "They don't like fire!"

"Right," Hermione said, but then she faltered. "Draco," she nearly wailed. "There's no wood."

"No wood," he said, his voice incredulous. "You're a _witch!"_

She turned a bright shade of red as she muttered, "Right," and, pulling her wand, shot a column of blue flames at the plant. It shuddered and almost wailed as it pulled away from them and huddled against the wall.

"Devil's Snare," she said again as the boys scooted away from it and they all made a show of brushing themselves off. "That's almost insulting. We learned about that _this year_. Whoever put that there wasn't trying to keep anyone over the age of twelve away."

"You almost forgot how to get rid of it," Draco pointed out.

"And you didn't know what it was," she snapped back.

"C'mon you two," Harry said with impatience. "We got past the dog _and_ the unexpected plant. Do you think there'll be more?" He sounded eager and Draco grinned at him a the three of them set off down a dark corridor that led to a room filled with what looked like flying birds.

"What are those?" Hermione demanded as one swooped down and got caught in her hair. She ducked and squealed and was batting at her hair. "Get it out, get it out!" Harry reached over and plucked out the metal object that twitched and wiggled in his fingers as it tried to get loose.

"It's a key," he said in wonder. "They're _all_ keys."

Draco pointed to the door on the other side of the room. "Who wants to bet that door is locked and one of these will get us through it?"

"Is this a funhouse maze?" Hermione demanded, glaring at the key in Draco's hand. "This doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," said Harry. "Whatever's at the end of the path is what the dog was guarding." He grinned. "Bet it's cool."

"You are _such_ an idiot," Hermione said as she put her hands on her hips and looked up at all the flying keys. "Maybe we should test the door first to see if it's really locked."

"Good idea," Draco said, and darted across the room. When he tried the handle the door didn't budge. "Locked," he said. "Try your _Alohomora_ , Hermione."

She ran across the room, getting three more keys caught in her hair in the process, but her charm had no more effect on the door than any of the four keys they'd caught so far. Harry, however, had found two brooms and he joined them and handed one to Draco. "First one to find the right key wins," he suggested.

"You're on," Draco said, and with that both boy were up in the air, flying with the keys, dodging between them with sharp little turns, and plummeting towards the stone floor to grab especially interesting possibilities. Hermione cringed as Draco came within inches of crashing into a wall and covered her eyes when Harry fell in a spiral, laughing the whole time. Finally they snagged half a dozen keys they thought seemed like the most likely prospects and they tried each one. One of them, one that struggled very hard against its captivity, did open the door. As soon as they let it go and pushed the door open, the key flung itself back into the air, seeming offended that it had been forced to open the door.

"Chess," Harry exclaimed with delight when they looked into the next room. "Draco, it's a giant chess set."

"I've always wanted to play one of these," Draco said, his eyes gleaming. "They had one at a fair we went to in Italy once but my mum wouldn't let me play, said it was too dangerous."

"We could ride the knights," Harry said. "We could _joust_!"

"Why is it dangerous?" Hermione asked in a tiny voice.

"Oh, the pieces can beat you up pretty badly," Draco said, barely paying her any mind. "But it'll be fine."

"Right," she said, drawing the word out. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because he's lying," Harry said with great cheer. "I'll be white?"

"Why do you get to be white?" Draco demanded.

"You are already white enough," Harry said.

Draco raised a hand to his pale hair and pretended to be upset. "You're just jealous I burn in the sun," he said. "Not everyone can be this pale, you know. It makes me special."

"Hermione's not pale," Harry said as he climbed on to a white knight.

Draco glared at Harry as he mounted his own knight. "You are _such_ a git," he said. "Hermione, I think you should get on the other knight."

"I'm not very good at chess," she said as she clambered up the piece and perched, looking very uncomfortable, near its head. "Or horseback riding."

"That's okay," Harry said. "Draco and I have been playing since – "

"Since Harry was shoving the pieces down his nappies," Draco said.

"I know things about you, too," Harry said.

"Just play!" Hermione ordered.

They did, and made it to the other side without incident though several other pieces were smashed to the ground. "Not interested in winning," Draco said. "We just have to get across the board."

When they got to the other side Harry said, "There's still time to joust if you wanted."

"No," Hermione said. She'd gotten off the piece she'd ridden across as quickly as could and looked a bit grey. "I never want to do that again."

"We should have held onto the brooms," Draco agreed, swinging down himself and taking her hand. "We could have just flown over."

"There were only two brooms," Hermione objected.

"I would have carried you," Draco said. She got, if possible, even greyer and he sighed. "You have to learn to like flying, Hermione. I swear, this summer you can come to my house and ride a broom that isn't falling apart and it will be better."

"Maybe Theo will be there," Harry said.

"Do you want me to shove you back onto that board?" Draco demanded.

Harry snickered and watched Hermione turn from grey to red. "Next room?" he asked.

"Next room," she agreed.

When the pushed open the door to the next room Hermione stopped short. "That bloody mirror," she said in a tone of total disgust.

"Professor Quirrell?" Draco asked, "What are you doing here?"

"We go through all that and the prize is just the _mirror?"_ Harry said, looking as disgusted as Hermione sounded. "I thought it would be something new." He stole a glance at the mirror anyway.

"Are you really this much of an idiot?" Professor Quirrell asked and Harry raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed at his scar.

"Headache?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's always around you Professor. Sorry. I think it's all the garlic." He kicked at an empty box on the floor. "The mirror. Damn it." He looked guiltily at Professor Quirrell. "Sorry," he said. "We're all in really big trouble, aren't we?"

Professor Quirrell was regarding him with what looked like stunned incredulity. "You have no idea who I am?" he asked. "You're just here on some schoolboy adventure?"

"You're Professor Quirrell," Hermione said, sounding confused and looking at Draco with nerves in her eyes. This wasn't how adults were supposed to behave. "You teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." She looked down and muttered something that sounded like, "It's not a very good class."

Professor Quirrell scowled at her. "Get out of my way, you stupid girl," he said. "I need to examine that mirror."

Hermione skittered to the side and all three children watched, wide-eyed, as Quirrell gazed at something only he could see.

"Professor," Hermione said, "that mirror – "

"Be _quiet_ ," the man snapped in a tone that had her pushing herself back against the wall and groping for the door which had slammed shut behind them. "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone. You see, you idiot children, I must have the Philosopher's Stone for my Master. He wants it and when he doesn't get what he wants he becomes upset. _Most_ upset."

"You want the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked, obviously befuddled.

"It's what the dog guarded, you incredibly imbecilic boy," Professor Quirrell said. "Not the mirror, the mirror is just the key…"

He trailed off as Harry said, sounding even more disappointed, "You mean this all just led to some dumb rock? We've been caught by a professor – "

"Who seems to have gone a bit mad," Hermione muttered, "And I think we should go."

" – And all that's down here is a rock that gives you immortality? So you have to be old forever? Who wants _that_?"

"Harry," Hermione hissed. "He's gone round the bend. You need to _be quiet._ "

"Use the boy."

"What the fuck?" Harry whispered because the evil, hissed whisper came not from Professor Quirrell's face but from the back of his turban. Before he could do anything else, however, the man grabbed both him and Draco, apparently unsure which boy the back of his head meant, and shoved them both in front of the mirror. "What do you see?"

"That mirror doesn't tell you what's _true_ ," Hermione said in what sounded like desperation. "It just tells you want you want most!"

Draco wrenched himself away from the hand holding his shirt and said, his voice shaking, "I see myself kissing a pretty girl."

Harry didn't sound scared, however. He sounded angry as he flung himself forward. "I see myself getting the fuck away from you, you crazy bastard," he said.

"Mr. Potter," came a familiar voice from the doorway. They all turned and saw Minerva McGonagall standing there. "That is quite enough from you. Five points from Gryffindor for your language choices and five points from Gryffindor for each of you being out past curfew. Get yourselves upstairs and into bed this instant."

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – What? It's a perfectly good stopping place. *bats eyes***_

 _ **You know how I feel about reviews, and tumblr remains the best place to ask questions and get a timely answer.**_


	15. Chapter 15

"I want to know what _exactly_ you were thinking, Albus," Minerva McGonagall fumed. She'd dealt with Quirrell, confiscated the Philosopher's Stone from Harry Potter's pocket, of all places, and owled Nicholas Flamel to come and get it. Her chess set had been returned to its proper place, portraits thanked for their assistance, and the children given a look-over to ensure they were as close to fine as one might hope after their encounter with darkness and insanity.

Children were, as she had noted before in her career, resilient creatures. They'd been mostly upset she'd taken points and that their adventure had ended so badly. Innocence was a marvelous thing.

Of course, innocence wasn't a luxury she had any longer so she'd climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's office. The door had started to ask the password, assessed her, and then opened of its own accord. "Thank you," she had said to it before she'd entered the room, glanced at the expensive furnishings, magical trinkets, and the portraits feigning sleep and had started to give Albus Dumbldore a piece of her mind. "Deciding to store the Mirror of Erised on the premises was a bad enough idea but the Philosopher's Stone? Have you lost command of your wits?"

Albus Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him as he sat in his office and regarded his long time colleague with a twinkle in his eyes. "I simply wanted to protect the stone from Voldemort, Minerva," he said. "I am, however, impressed with the Potter boy. He's quite remarkable. How did you happen upon him so conveniently this evening?"

"A little bird told me the children had snuck out. It's hard to hide bad lyre music for long in a castle full of magical portraits. And, Albus, he's an eleven-year-old boy," she said, "Not 'remarkable'. He's a boy who appears to have spent much of the past few months staring at images of his dead parents in that mirror of yours which is most disturbing. And speaking of 'disturbing', there's – or there was - Quirrell. Did you know about Quirrell?"

"I suspected," Albus seemingly admitted, "but it's a trifle tricky to ask a man if he's been possessed by Voldemort."

Minerva snorted.

"I did think he'd reveal himself by hunting down the Stone, which is exactly what he did. He bypassed the dog, the plant, your chess set, all dangerous traps, to try to seek it out. It was simply bad luck that the Potter boy found the Mirror before I had it in place for the unfortunate Quirrell. I assure you, Minerva, I didn't mean for the child to spend his nights longing for something so brutally taken from him." Albus Dumbledore coughed. "I assume poor Quirrell didn't survive his possession?"

"I have instructed Hagrid to bury him in the cemetery. We'll have a small service after the children return home," Minerva said by way of answering. "He's quite dead and I suspect the… spirit… that possessed him has fled to another home. We have a problem, Albus. A he-who-must-not-be-named sized problem."

"I am aware," Albus Dumbledore said.

"No more testing of my students, Albus. He's a boy and nothing more."

"He's a boy who snuck past a three-headed dog as a lark," Albus said. "Perhaps you'd better keep a closer watch on him."

Minerva narrowed her eyes but all she said was, "That's excellent advice, Albus. Thank you."

"They were all, I hope, none the worse for wear after their adventure?" the Headmaster asked her.

"They seem a little shaken but unharmed," Minerva said, "I am unsure how much they understood of what was going on. And I think I will need to have a word with Sirius Black about Mr. Potter's vocabulary."

"Colourful, is it?"

Minerva McGonagall rubbed her forehead. "You have no idea, Albus."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione slipped into the compartment on the train, Draco behind her. Harry had already flung himself onto a seat and dug a handful of galleons out to buy enough candy to feed twice their number when Theo appeared, shifting from one foot to the other, in the doorway. He stumbled forward when Pansy, who was right behind him, gave him a hard shove. "Sit down," she ordered him, adding in a voice so loud it could probably be heard in the next car over, "We have to sit with you Gryffindor losers because everywhere else is full."

She slammed the door behind her, lowered the shade, and shoved Harry's feet off the seat. "Make a space for me."

"For you, Pans, anything," Harry said.

Theo flashed his shy smile at Hermione who pulled a book out of her bag. " _The Witch of Blackbird Pond,"_ Theo read.

"It's a American book," she said, "but it's good."

Theo nodded and slipped it into his bag. "Better not let your father see that," Draco advised.

"I won't," Theo said. "He pretty much leaves me alone anyway."

"Is no one going to congratulate us on winning the house cup?" Pansy asked, poking Harry with her toe. "Eighth year in a row for Slytherin."

"We'll get it next year when I'm the Seeker on the Quidditch team," Harry said.

"Who's the Seeker?" Draco asked.

"Maybe you can be the backup," Harry suggested. "You know, in case I get hurt or something."

"Maybe you're full of yourself?" Draco countered.

Pansy kicked Harry harder and he bent down to rub his shin. "Ow. Merlin, Pansy, cut it out." She tipped her head to the side and waited expectantly and, at last, Harry said, "Fine, congratulations. You won. Again. Big surprise."

"Congratulations, Pansy," Hermione said. "Maybe if _some people_ weren't constantly getting into trouble we'd have been closer."

"You couldn't have been much farther," Pansy said in a tone of satisfaction. "Dead last." She eyed Harry. "You going to buy me a lollipop with some of that loot?"

"Maybe," he said. "If you stop bloody kicking me."

"I think I heard McGonagall say she was going to write to Sirius," Draco said. "Do you think she'll tell him…?"

"She will," Harry said somewhat glumly before he perked up. "Maybe that means I won't have to do a lyre concert this summer."

"Since when you do play the lyre?" Pansy demanded.

"He doesn't," Draco and Hermione said in unison.

"Then why would you have to do a concert?" Theo asked.

"It is _such_ a long story," Draco said.

"It's such a long train ride," Pansy pointed out.

"Well," Draco began and he spun out the whole story of their adventure with the dog and the lyre and the mirror and Quirrell, stopping once when the cart came by and they all purchased their lunches and handfuls of sweets. Harry did buy Pansy the lollipop she wanted, which she shoved into one cheek as she gnawed on it and listened.

"You are all a bunch of idiots," Theo said at the conclusion.

"Wish I'd been there," Pansy said. "Wonder what I would have seen in that mirror."

"Tracey Davis falling down the stairs," Theo suggested.

"She's such a horror," Pansy agreed, "and sucking up to Blaise all the time. 'Oh, Blaisey, can I sit here with you? Oh, Blaisey, can I touch your perfect hair? Oh, Blaisey, can I –"

"Does she really call him 'Blaisey'?" Hermione asked. "Rhymes with daisy Blaisey?"

Theo nearly choked on the sweet he was eating. "That's brilliant," he got out. "Pansy, we have to start calling him that. Stuck up prat."

"What would you see, Theo?" Harry asked a he wrestled with a box of licorice snaps.

The boy shrugged but before he could answer Draco said, "You all have to come to the Manor this summer. Every day. I am going to be so bored." He nudged Hermione. "Even you. We'll get your fireplace hooked up the Floo Network so you can come over."

She laughed. "Fine, but you all have to come to my house too."

"A Muggle house?" Pansy sounded as if Hermione had suggested they all go to the dump and shoot hexes at rats for fun.

"Yes," Draco said. "A _Muggle_ house. It'll be fun. An adventure." He glanced at Theo. "You can tell your dad you're at my place. Or Harry's."

Theo glanced at Hermione and said, sounding a little uneasy, "Okay."

"My parents aren't going to try to burn you in the backyard," Hermione said, glaring from Pansy to Theo and then back again.

"Nope," said Harry. "If you want that you'll have to go visit my Aunt Petunia."

. . . . . . . . . .

"What are they doing?" Lucius asked from the window of one of the back parlours. The children had been at the Manor almost every day that summer and today Theo, Draco, and Harry were all out on the back lawn standing around a very dubious looking Hermione and a broom.

"Trying to teach her to fly," Narcissa said from the chaise where she was reading a novel. "Apparently she doesn't care for brooms."

Lucius glanced over at Narcissa. "Don't they have flying lessons at Hogwarts?" he asked. "I admit I was a little surprised when Draco told me he was taking them given his penchant for flying as fast as he can but – "

"It was to be with Hermione," Narcissa said, turning a page. "Try to keep up, dear."

"Still," Lucius said, "why does she need the boys to teach her? Isn't that that old Hoot's job?"

"Hooch," Narcissa said. "And, yes, but the boys appear to feel that she has been hindered by inadequate equipment at school."

"So instead of learning on a safe broom they've decided to put her on one of theirs?" Lucius sounded somewhat nervous. "Are you sure that's a good idea."

Narcissa lifted her eyes to smile at him. "I'm sure the boys only have brooms that are suitable for children," she said in a calm voice. "I'm sure that neither you nor Sirius would ever give them anything that could ever be considered dangerous or inappropriate."

Lucius stood up a bit more quickly than etiquette suggested was proper and said, "Yes, well, you know, I think I'll go supervise this. I was quite a good flyer in my youth and I might have some suggestions that will help."

Narcissa looked back down at her book. "You do that, darling."

When Lucius reached the back lawn the boys had just convinced Hermione to try it. Pansy was stretched out with her back against a tree and a bottle of nail polish at her side. "Mr. Malfoy," she said politely.

"Miss Parkinson," he responded with a nod as he covertly examined the broom. The boys had indeed had the sense to pull an older model out rather than the current Nimbus he'd slipped into the collection the week before school was out much less the experimental model he'd handed Draco with a 'don't tell your mother' admonition. That was good. That was a relief. They were being reasonable.

Hermione sighed and said, "This is just never easy for me. I don't think I'm cut out for flying," but she held her hand out over the broom and said, "Up."

Her lips were still shaping the 'p' when the broom shot up into her grip. She started at it in utter astonishment. "That never happens," she said.

"Those school brooms are poxy shite," Harry said. Lucius coughed discretely and the boy nearly jumped. "Hullo, Mr. Malfoy," he said, turning around and seeing him for the first time. "We're just trying to teach Hermione here that flying's not awful."

"I see," Lucius said, hiding the half-exasperated smile that Harry Potter always seemed to evoke.. "Am I to understand that the school equipment is not quite up to snuff?"

"Err, yes," Harry said, shifting from one foot to the other. "That's one way to put it."

Lucius watched the boys offer the poor girl conflicting and frequently bad instruction but merely the possession of a broom that wasn't using all its magical energy trying to keep body and spell together seemed to be what it took. Within thirty minutes she was doing lazy circles above the trees, delight on her face. "Are the brooms really that bad?" he asked Draco. "No one's put in a request to the Board for replacements."

Draco gave a look that summoned every ounce of scorn in his slender frame. "They're terrible. Rickety, straw falling out, they sputter and stop and go and jerk around."

"You've had trouble?" Lucius asked with more than a little surprise. Draco's daredevil flying was a source of more than a little marital strife.

"Well, no," Draco admitted. "But they take a lot more effort than I'm used to from a broom, and they're hard to sit on."

"Those aren't what the Quidditch teams use, are they?" Lucius asked in consternation as he watched the girl swoop down and grab a sweet the Nott boy held up for her. "I don't want you fighting with some sub-standard broom on the pitch; the game is dangerous enough without you having to split your focus."

"Most people use their own brooms," Draco said. He was glaring at Theodore Nott, a glare that made Lucius smile as he remembered his own youth. Before he'd met Narcissa he'd been mad for some black-haired girl whose name he couldn't even remember now, and he'd scowled just that way whenever she'd talk to another boy. "And maybe I won't make the team anyway," Draco muttered, interrupting Lucius' attempt to remember the long-forgotten crush's name.

"I don't think the question is whether you'll make the team," Lucius said. "The only real question is whether it'll be you or Harry who's the Seeker."

"Me!" Draco said in outrage.

Lucius laughed. "Why don't you go fly with your little friend down to the duck pond?"

"Why?' Draco asked.

"Because, as I recall, Theodore had an unpleasant experience with a duck when he was small and doesn't care for them as a result." Draco looked at his father and Lucius had to fight to hide his amusement at the way the boy's confusion slowly gave way to first understanding and then to utter embarrassment. "I'll be in the house with your mother," Lucius said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco tugged Hermione closer to the arching bridge where the ducks usually hid their ducklings in the spring. "There," he pointed to them, his voice a whisper.

She bent down and made a cooing gasp when she saw the fluffy babies in a pile tucked into the shadows. "Draco," she breathed, "they're adorable."

The mama duck, annoyed at the intrusion, made a series of loud quacks before she herded her little ones into the water and out into the pond, safely away from the human intruders.

"Look at them," Hermione nearly squealed before she turned to him and said, "Draco, they are the cutest thing ever. Thank you so much for bringing me down here."

He scuffed the long grass with his shoe. "I figured you should get to fly in more than circles," he said. "I mean, now that you know you like it."

She took a step toward him and he gulped and then jerked his head forward and pressed his lips to what he'd probably meant to be her mouth but turned out to be half mouth and half face. She made a tiny eeping sound and he turned bright red and then she balanced forward on her toes so she was closer him and kissed him back.

She had better aim.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – It does say dramione in the summary but so many people seemed afraid it was not I felt like I had to make it clear. No, really. It's dramione. It's just that they're also twelve. I am writing a Theomione but it's pretty much the opposite of this: dark and sad where this is light fluff.**_

 _ **Also, let me know which boy (Harry or Draco) should be Seeker. Boy with the most votes by Wednesday, as it were, gets the job. It's choose your own fanfic adventure :) Neville is not an option so don't go getting all cute. :P**_

 _ **Thank you for all your lovely reviews. They give me energy to work like a triple espresso over ice.**_

 _ **And, as I continue to say, I'm also on twitter (Colubrina_) and tumblr (Colubrina).**_


	16. Chapter 16

Over the summer Sirius watched Harry go into every closed off room of their townhouse, obviously looking for something, and waited for the boy to mention whatever it was that was bothering him. He looked through old photograph albums and he was often far quieter than was usual for Harry and, just when Sirius was about to break and stop waiting for Harry to seek him out, the boy did.

"Sirius," he said, poking listlessly at his toast one morning near the end of the summer holiday as they sat at the table in the kitchen.

"Mmm," Sirius said from behind the paper, being careful not to react too much lest he scare the boy off.

"What were my parents like? I mean, really _like_?" He poked at his plate a little bit more, causing Kreacher to quiver in the corner and make the tiny whimpering sounds the elf made when he thought he'd somehow been displeasing.

Sirius controlled his urge to snap at the wretched creature even as he felt the familiar ache at the reminder of James' death and said, "They were great. They were my best friends." He set the paper down. "What do you want to know?"

"I… would they be proud of me?" Harry asked, not looking up. "Would they _like_ me?"

"More than anything," Sirius said, feeling his heart break a little. "There's nothing I wish more than that they were here. It's been… there's not a day that goes by I don't miss your dad. He was like a brother to me. They… never doubt that they would have been so, so proud of you."

"Brothers like me and Draco?" Harry said.

"Exactly." Sirius sighed. "James loved you so much, Harry. He and Lily loved you _so much_. You were such a… you flew on your little broom before most kids can walk and scared the cat and broke some hideous vase and they just treasured every moment and they were in hiding and it was hard but they wanted nothing more than to see you grow up." Sirius could hear the way his voice had become choked and tight and could feel his throat tighten and his chest start to hurt as he remembered sitting in the little house with Lily and James while Lily burped the baby and asking her why did you have to do that, why were babies so hard. "I'd never be able to raise a kid," he'd said to her. "I'd just fuck it up and teach him to swear and cheer him on while he seduced girls."

"You'd be great," Lily had said. "All you need to do is love them. The rest of it's just details."

"I'm trying, Lils," he whispered now. "I'm doing the best I can. I hope it's good enough."

"I just wish… I wish I could _see_ them," Harry said, oblivious to Sirius' murmur and slouching down in his seat. "I wish there was a portrait or something so they could talk to me."

"Oh Harry," Sirius said, watching the boy sag. "Portraits… they aren't real. They are just loops of one or two thoughts caught forever. My mother was a horror but she was a more, - " He dropped off trying to find the right word to describe his miserable, wretched, evil mother.

"Interesting?" Harry suggested.

"Good word choice," Sirius agreed. "She was more interesting in her awfulness than her portrait. She hated everything and everyone and that portrait is more limited in its abuse." He glanced toward the front hall and muttered, "And louder."

"It sucks they died," Harry said. "It... it makes me really _angry_ , Sirius. Really, really angry, like I want to lash out as someone."

"Me too, kiddo," Sirius said. "Me too."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Remus," Sirius said, sticking his head into the werewolf's room. As usual, the man was reading some thick and surely tedious law book in his endless, futile hope he could find some way of forcing people to hire him. Never mind that he had access to the Potter vaults. Never mind that he had access to the Black vaults. Remus Lupin was going to find a way to get a job if it killed him.

"What?" Remus looked up.

"Parenting is fucking hard."

Remus sighed and tossed Sirius something from his desk Sirius caught it automatically and looked at it, expecting to see one of Remus' blocks of chocolate. Instead it was a small bottle.

"What is this?" Sirius turned the tiny bottle in his hand. The blue glass was pretty but lacking any kind of label that might explain what it held

"Alcoholic chocolate," Remus said. "Like regular chocolate only better. And I have more." He glanced past Sirius out into the hall. "Where's Harry?"

"Gone over to that Muggle girl's house," Sirius said.

"The one Draco fancies?" Remus asked.

"That's the one."

Remus snickered. "I bet that chafes Lucius' arse."

Sirius grinned back. "Merlin, I hope so."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Helen Granger had opinions about wizards. They weren't bad opinions, exactly, but they were strong It was certainly nice that her daughter had found other people like herself, and the way she'd managed to make friends for the first time in her life had reassured both Grangers that sending her off to that peculiar boarding school had been the right decision. It was just that wizards were so odd. There were things that were quirky but cute, like the inefficiency of using owls to deliver the post, and there were things that simply made no sense, such as Floo travel.

"Really," Helen had said to her husband one night, "magical powers and all you get is ashes on your clothes whenever you want to go anywhere."

He'd agreed. "It does sort of spoil the idea of magic, doesn't it?" he asked her. "You think as a kid that if magic were real it would be this source of endless wonder and it turns out to be real enough but not really all that, well, magical; more in the way of a post that might defecate on you and ridiculous ways to get around." He'd shrugged as he'd lifted a framed photograph of Hermione as a child in a ballet recital outfit and dusted under it before putting it back onto the bookshelf. "But if she's happy that's all that really matters."

"And the way they dress," Helen had said. They two had exchanged a look of barely repressed mirth. That Mineva McGonagall had shown up at their house to explain their daughter was a witch while wearing an actual pointed black hat was something they still laughed about. "Right out of a bad show on the telly," they'd agreed.

Now, as Helen watched the children arrive for their play-date with Hermione before they all went back up to their school for another term, her opinions on adult wizards were confirmed. The children all seemed polite enough and the little blond boy with the silly name had shaken her hand and thanked her for her hospitality with such a serious look on his face she'd been charmed. His father, however, had been wearing what seemed to be a black velvet overcoat that looked like nothing so much as something fished out of a theatre's costume discard box and, more damning, he had long hair like some hippy.

Helen Granger tried not to judge people on anything other than the state of their teeth. She understood that not everyone had had the same advantages she had had and that she had tried to give to Hermione and she tried to keep that in mind as the odd, odd man dropping his son and another pale, skinny boy off seemed to flinch as she shook his hand and reassured him the children would be fine.

She saw him discretely wiping his hand on his trousers before he disappeared with a loud pop from her backyard and she thought how sad it was that some people suffered from debilitating mental conditions that could leave them just unable to interact normally with people and resolved to be as kind as she could to his poor son.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"They seem really ordinary," Theo whispered to Pansy as the Grangers set out a platter of sandwiches, crisps, and sugar-free biscuits for the children in the small patio that served as a backyard behind their London townhouse. Theo had looked around for any kind of weaponry that might be used to hunt down witches and found nothing. The house was spotless and Hermione's mother seemed a wholly predictable blend of maternally condescending and gracefully out of the way of her daughter's small party. She'd asked him polite questions when he'd arrived about his education and expressed mild interest that he and Hermione were sharing books.

"It's almost disappointing," Pansy agreed as she picked up a biscuit, took a bite, made a face and set it down. "I'd hoped for something a little more exciting. This is just like visiting Millie."

"Fewer cats," Theo said. Millicent Bulstrode's mother bred cats and her house was always filled with at least one litter of kittens in some stage of adorable development and no matter how many charms you used you ended up covered in cat hair after visiting her.

"Don't eat the biscuits," Hermione advised a little too late as she came out with a pitcher of water and some cups.

"No pumpkin juice?" Pansy asked, eying the clear liquid. She personally didn't care for pumpkin juice that much but it was always served at these things and not seeing it made it clear in a way that the odd way the Granger's lit their home and the mysterious devices she'd seen as she walked though did not that these people really were different.

"Muggles don't drink pumpkin juice," Hermione said, sounding somewhat apologetic, "but, even if they did, my parents wouldn't have it. Juice rots your teeth."

"Really?"

"All the sugar," Hermione explained.

"Pumpkin juice doesn't have sugar in it," Harry said, taking a handful of crisps. "It has pumpkins."

"And sugar," Hermione said as she set the pitcher down near the sandwiches.

"Really?" Draco asked.

"Yes, really," she said and tried to change the subject. "Have any of you looked at the booklist for next year? Who is this Gilderoy Lockhart and why do we have to get everything he's ever written?"

"New Defense teacher and he can't be worse than Quirrell," Draco opined. "I mean, Quirrell kind of lost his mind there at the end and was talking to himself and everything."

"Plus the garlic," Neville said. He was hunched a little nervously along a bench that ran along the side of the wall that marked the boundary of the small garden area and had almost dropped his hostess gift when he'd appeared and seen Pansy and Theo. He'd managed to pass the small box of chocolates his gran had instructed him to not forget to give to Mrs. Granger off to Hermione's mother without incident but still almost stammered whenever he spoke and kept casting glances at them.

"Merlin," Pansy said at last. "We don't _bite_ , Longbottom. Do you have to be such a fat little crybaby?"

"Leave him alone," Harry ordered Pansy, throwing one of the sugar-free biscuits at her head. "You can be a bit scary, you know. He's being sensible."

"I am not scary," she protested, but she sounded flattered for all that.

Harry made a rude noise and turned to Draco. "Is Pansy frightening?"

"Like a boggart," Draco said.

"See," said Harry. "Terrifying." He nudged Neville with his foot. "Try to overlook that she got sorted into Slytherin. She's a good sort for all that. Just don't ever dance with her."

"Why not?" Neville asked.

"She thinks it's funny to step on your feet as hard as she can," Harry confided in a stage whisper. "She's a menace."

"Back to Lockhart," Hermione began but Pansy groaned.

"Do we have to talk about school? Ugh."

"Fine," Hermione said, her arms crossed, "but have you seen his author photograph?" Hermione pulled a book out of nowhere and handed it to Pansy and, to all the boys' dismay, they both began to giggle and talk about the handsome wizard.

"It's just like going to Millie's," Theo muttered at last, popping a crisp into his mouth. " _Just_ like."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco poked through the pile of things his mother had cleaned out of old closets at the Manor. She'd sorted them onto different tables, and he knew one set was a donation for a sale one of her charities was having and one was to throw away though, honestly, looking at them he had no idea which pile was which. He picked up a leather-bound journal from one table and flipped through it. Not a single page was written on. "Huh," he said out loud. "I told Neville he should get a diary to write stuff down in so he doesn't forget things but I bet he didn't." Draco hefted the book in his hand a couple of times while he considered whether Neville would have remembered to get a diary and decided that, no, he'd just show up at school with another one of those worthless Remembralls instead.

Draco went upstairs and tossed the blank book into his school trunk figuring it was just going to get sold to someone at the charity-du-jour anyway – or thrown out - so no one would mind if he took it. By the time he came back down, the stuff on both tables had been cleared away, one to wherever the Slytherin Ladies League was storing the crap they planned to sell and the other, he assumed, to be burned in the basement. He'd bragged once to Harry that they were probably the only wizarding family in all of Britain that had a controlled fiendfyre incinerator but Harry, git that he was, had not been properly impressed.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – Draco fans will be pleased to hear that in the "vote for seeker" contest he won, 163 – 119. But, Harry fans, fear not because Quidditch is a dangerous game and Draco is sure to become injured, requiring both a fill in Seeker and sympathy from Hermione, assuming she can muster any because Lockhart is awfully dreamy and doodling Hermione Lockhart with hearts in her notes takes up a lot of energy.**_


	17. Chapter 17 (Start of Second Year)

Draco and Harry felt, later, that their second year started out on an upbeat note that in no way properly predicted what was to come. Sure, they were drawn to the castle by the carriages Draco still insisted were creepy and horseless despite Harry and Theo's reassurances that there were, indeed, creatures pulling them. And Theo did meet that blonde because she plucked the latest Muggle book Hermione had loaned him, something called _The Island of the Blue Dolphins,_ out of his hands on the train. "Oh," the girl had said, "that book is sad." Theo had asked if she were Muggle-born and had been obviously startled when she'd said that while that would have been really interesting she was, alas, from a wizarding family. "Luna," she'd said, gazing at him with eyes that seemed too wide to be real. Theo had stumbled through conversation the whole train ride, unaided by a girl who let long silences pass without fuss and then suddenly replied. He'd been visibly disappointed when she was Sorted away from him at the Feast.

Nevertheless, despite the carriage and despite the odd Luna disappearing into a sea of blue Ravenclaw ties, everything started off well enough. Draco gave Neville the diary and the boy was blushingly, stammeringly grateful anyone had thought of him. "Merlin," Draco said at last, "it's just an old book no one wanted or ever used that was going to go raise a few sickles for charity. It's not a rare, magical item or anything. Stop gushing. You're embarrassing yourself."

Ron was happy to see them all, though irritated his little sister was at Hogwarts. "It's bad enough to have three older brothers at Hogwarts," he said as he played with his limp and unresponsive rat. "But now Ginny's here too."

"How is that thing still alive?" Harry asked, eyeing Scabbers.

"Beats me," Ron muttered. "At least I don't need to worry about him running off, though." At that all four boys looked at Trevor, napping in his terrarium. Toad containment was an ongoing struggle, especially because Neville insisted on carrying the thing everywhere in a pocket.

"Trevor is very affectionate," Neville said to a roll of Harry's eyes.

"Ginny's kind of cute," Harry said. "I think we should –." But what he thought they should do was to go unrevealed because Ron threw a pillow at him and instigated feather-based warfare that only ended when two pillows had been destroyed and all four boys were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"This year is going to be _great_ ," Harry said. "We can play Quidditch, no more flying lessons sucking up your time, and that creepy Quirrell's gone. Everything is going to be _perfect_."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry was less happy – and Draco quite a bit more – after Quidditch tryouts. It wasn't that Harry flew poorly; he quite literally flew vertical circles around Draco as the other boy tried to find the Snitch. He flew way into the sky and plunged back to the ground, pulling up in a dramatic save that elicited quite a few gasps from the watching crowds but an annoyed huff from the team captain, Oliver Wood. "This isn't some kind of ballroom dance competition," he finally yelled out. "There are no points for style, Potter, just get the Snitch."

Draco, however, who had been crisscrossing the pitch as fast as he could but without any dramatics, had already seen the flying golden ball and was moving toward it so quickly that Harry couldn't catch up. Draco snatched the fluttering target and held it up. Wood looked relieved as he said, "Malfoy for Seeker. Potter, you can be the backup. And try out next year for Chaser; there's no open spots right now but your dad was a Chaser and, if you could just stop showing off, I bet you'd be great at it."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Great. Thanks." He slouched over to Draco. "Congrats." He sounded not the slightest bit congratulatory and Pansy, who'd sauntered over from the stands where she'd been watching, hit him.

"Ow," Harry said, glaring at her.

"Take me flying," she demanded. "I want to see how fast we can make it to the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

"What?" Harry was still rubbing at his arm. "This is going to bruise, Pansy."

"Fly-ing," she said, over articulating the words the way some people will when they're talking to someone who doesn't know English and are caught in the delusion that speaking louder and slower will magically render the words comprehensible. "To the For-bid-den For-est." She took his broom out of his hand and returned to speaking normally? "Stop being a sore loser and take me flying. Or are you not good enough to handle a passenger?"

He snatched his broom back. "Get on, Pans," he said. "And hold tight because if you fall it's your own fault."

Draco Malfoy and Oliver Wood watched the two dart off, Pansy's short hair stuck straight out behind her because of the speed at which they were traveling. "Does he know that Slytherin girl just played him?" Oliver asked, his voice curious.

"Probably not," Draco said.

"Is she always that… forceful?" Oliver had turned away from the departing pair and was waving over the rest of the team.

"Yeah," Draco admitted. "She's rather terrifying."

"Better him than me," Oliver muttered before going, "Okay, you must know the Weasley twins – Fred and George – because you share a room with their brother."

"Sorry about Ronniekins," one of the identical third-year boys said.

"We've tried – " the other added.

" – but he's hopeless."

"They're our Beaters," Oliver said. "Angelina and Katie are our Chasers." Another girl made a coughing noise and he added, "And Alicia. Sorry." She huffed. "And I'm the Keeper. We'll practice three night a week after dinner normally but I've reserved the field for first thing Saturday morning this weekend so we can get started." Oliver Wood grinned at Draco. "Welcome to the team."

"Wish I had a broom like yours," Fred – or maybe George – said, casting an envious eye at Draco's newest Nimbus. "The school brooms aren't worth the wood they're made from so there's no point using one of those but ours aren't much better."

Draco looked from Fred to George, wondering if he was about to misstep, before he asked, "Would new brooms help?"

"Damn right they would," Oliver said, "but I've asked for the school to cover the cost of better brooms every year and all I ever get is that it's too expensive."

George looked at Fred and Fred looked at George and then they both looked at the still unsure Draco with wide smiles on their matching faces. "I think – "

"- we're going to get along – "

" – beautifully."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I can't believe he made the team." Harry had been repeating himself for a bit and kicking rocks while Pansy balanced on the broom she'd charmed to float in midair without moving and listened to him feel sorry for himself. He seemed a little stunned he'd not gotten the Seeker's spot and it occurred to her that this might be the first time Harry Potter could remember not getting something he really wanted.

"It's your own fault," she said at last. "You were too busy showing off to look for the Snitch."

"I'm better at flying," Harry said, a stubborn set to his jaw.

Pansy watched him kick another rock and then said, "Yeah. And?"

"What do you mean 'and'?" Harry demanded. "The better flyer should get the position."

"Merlin, you're such an idiot," Pansy said. "Draco caught the Snitch. That's the _point_ , Harry." She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of all things male and how they didn't appreciate it when she was trying to be subtle. "Are you going to try to kiss me or am I going to have Draco do that too?"

Harry stopped where he was and turned his head to look at the girl sitting on his broom, her ankles crossed and a carefully constructed smirk on her face. "Uh, what?" he asked.

"You're actually worse at this than you are at dancing," Pansy said but she was starting to look a little less sure of herself. "I mean – "

"You _like_ me?" Harry interrupted her. "I mean, _like me_ like me?"

"Obviously," Pansy said, "or I wouldn't have suggested you fly me out here."

"Oh," Harry said, then, "What do you mean have Draco kiss you?"

"Well," she said. "He kissed Hermione so I assume he knows what he's doing at least a little." Harry boggled at her and Pansy began to laugh. "I thought you two shared everything."

"I guess not," Harry said. "He kissed _Hermione_?" He sounded like he couldn't quite believe her, like the very idea of Draco kissing anyone, much less Hermione, was foreign to him.

Pansy sighed and climbed down off the broom and let it fall to the ground behind her. Harry gulped audibly and then put his hands on her shoulders, then her back, then on her shoulders again as though he weren't sure what to do with them. He tipped his head to the side and put his lips against hers, then pulled back and muttered, "Like that?"

She moved a little closer and kissed him back, her lips slightly less tense than his had been. "Yeah," she said. "Like that.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Slumming, Pansy?" Blaise asked. Pansy had returned from her expedition to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with messy hair and a smugger gleam than usual in her eyes. "Didn't realize half-bloods were exactly your speed."

"He's a Potter _and_ a Black, and practically a Malfoy by adoption," she retorted. "Who's your father again?"

Blaise scowled at her. "He's a _half-blood_ ," he repeated, "which make you a blood traitor."

"Whatever, Blaisey-Blaisey-rhymes-with-Daisy," Pansy said. "And you're an idiot."

Blaise's scowl deepened as Pansy sashayed by, waving at a few older students sitting around the Slytherin common room, all of whom smiled back at her. Pansy's unapologetically rude remarks tended to charm people they weren't directed at and Blaise looked around in fury at the realization that instead of shaming Pansy for being out with a half-blood Gryffindor the room was laughing at the way she'd put him down.

He slunk off with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels, sullen and furious.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco slouched against the side of the couch in the Gryffindor common room and watched Hermione make her neatly outlined notes about the reading she'd done for a class they hadn't even had yet. She had _Voyages with Vampires_ propped in front of her and the photograph of Gilderoy Lockhart smiled and posed from the back cover.

"Hermione," Draco whined after she turned another page and looked prepared to start work on yet another chapter they hadn't even been assigned yet. He heard the petulance in his voice and tried to hide it. "Aren't you going to congratulate me on being made Seeker?"

She looked up and flashed him her warm smile. "I'm sure you'll be great," she said. "You're a really good flyer."

"Better than Harry," he said but she tilted her head to the side as she considered that.

"Better than Theo," she conceded and Draco had to be content with that. He decided that was fine. _Harry_ , after all, had never held up a sweet for her or loaned her a book. _Harry_ had flown off with Pansy to do Merlin-knows-what at the very edge of permissible wandering. And since he'd gotten the Seeker's slot he could afford to be generous in his assessment of Harry's flying, a generosity he showed with an ambivalent shrug.

"You want to go for a walk?" he asked her. She began to finger her book and he said, whining again, "We don't even have the first class until tomorrow. Come _on_ , Hermione."

She closed her book up, looking maybe a bit longer at the waving photograph on the back than was necessary, and put it back in her bag, which she then shoved onto a table by the portrait hole that already had a dozen other bags that people had abandoned around the room stashed on it. Gryffindors could be careless with their belongings and at some point in history someone had instituted a 'drop your stuff on this table so no one trips on it' policy to which people mostly adhered; bags left on couches and on the floor got moved to the table and, by the end of the week, the table was a giant pile of neglected schoolwork.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked.

"I could show you the Quidditch pitch?" Draco suggested. Behind him Fred – or maybe George – snickered but he missed his teammate's assessment of his wooing idea as well as Hermione's sigh in his eagerness to talk to her at length about Quidditch, how much he loved Quidditch, how happy he was to be on the team, how the shape of the pitch affected play and so on.

The portrait hole closed and Fred muttered, "Idiot."

"He'll learn," George said.

"If you must date at all – "

"- date another Quidditch player."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville took out a quill and dipped it in his inkwell and began to write. _I wish I were a stronger wizard_ , he wrote. _I wish my gran weren't so obvious that she thinks I'm nearly a squib._

He stared in shock as the words disappeared into the paper and new words formed. _Hullo,_ the diary said to him. _Maybe I can help you with that._

. . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N – There was a request for something fluffy after the ending of The Ones Who Ran. Hope this fits the bill. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

The Gryffindor students settled into their seats for the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. There had been widespread speculation whether this year's teacher would be better or worse than Quirrell. The female portion of the House tended to lean toward better, refusing to explain why and not a one of them had been late to this first class.

"As long as he doesn't reek of garlic, it'll be better," Dean Thomas said as he kicked his feet out in front of him and waited for class to start.

Draco eyed first Lavender Brown, who had done something vague and different to her hair so that it hung in a kind of curled wave around her face, and then Parvati Patil, who was wearing what looked like eyeliner and lipstick. Even Hermione had put on a headband than held her hair out of her face and was leaning on one hand with a pile of textbooks stacked in front of her. He had a bad feeling Dean Thomas might be wrong. He'd seen Hermione doodling little hearts on one of the many pages of notes she's written up for the class already and they made him feel mean in a way he couldn't figure out and didn't like.

That mean feeling intensified when the professor walked in and Draco felt an unreasonable dislike of the color purple form in his soul. First Quirrell had worn a purple turban and now this creep had a purple cape on, one he tossed over his shoulder with a practiced movement that seemed deliberately nonchalant and which made Draco want to kick him. "So," Professor Lockhard said, "I'm sure some of you know me from my more popular books," he beamed at Hermione who formed what Draco considered a hateful little insipid smile, "and some of you from my guides to common magical pests." He smiled at Ron Weasley. "I bet your mother has a copy of my guide, young man."

"She does," Ron admitted, though he sounded embarrassed, as well he should, Draco thought. His own mother would never, he was quite sure, permit trash like that on her bookshelf.

"And who do we have here?" Lockhart peered at Harry. "I'd heard Harry Potter was in this class. My goodness, young man, such a delight. The Chosen One. You must tell us all about how you vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Draco glanced at Harry who looked miserable, as he always did when people brought up his survival. Hermione waved her hand in the air and, before Lockhart could even call on her, gushed, "We all know about Harry, sir. We'd much rather hear about you." She had her jaw set in the way she did when she wasn't happy about something and her mouth, while still set in a smile, looked harder.

"Well," Lockhart said, beaming at her again, "I mustn't disappoint my fans." He launched into a long, involved spiel about banshees that Draco suspected was about as truthful as the stories his father used to tell him at bedtime about how otters and dragons were best friends before announcing, "And now it's time for a quiz, just to get us started!"

"Couldn't we hear more about the banshees?" Seamus Finnegan asked, trying valiantly to head off a pop quiz on the very first day of class.

"I do love an attentive fa… student," Lockhart said, "but I'd be neglecting my responsibilities as your teacher if I didn't check to see how many of you have done the summer reading!"

Draco didn't recall any summer reading being assigned and, based on the looks he, Harry, Dean, Ron, and Seamus were exchanging he wasn't alone in this. Hermione, of course, looked thrilled and Draco thought sourly of her colour-coded notes with the little hearts in the margins. Stupid little swot, he thought, so pleased to be right. He took the paper Lockhart handed him with an angry tug and looked down at the questions. He thought the quiz had to be a joke for a moment. ' _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?'_ read the first question. He flipped the paper over. It went on over both sides ending with, ' _54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what would his ideal present be?'_

Hermione, he saw, was busy writing answers as fast as she could.

He nearly broke his quill with how hard he jammed it into the paper. This was a joke, a total joke, and as soon as this class was over he was writing his father to complain about it. Maybe he should have gone to Durmstang after all.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"What am I going to do?" Ron was slouched in the common room holding two halves of his wand while Hermione did her best to use spell-o-tape to get it to stick back together.

"What happened?" Draco had never seen a broken wand before. He supposed it happened but your wand was _yours_ , practically a hand, it was something that chose you and something you just instinctively took care of.

"Broke it," Ron said.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. That much was obvious. He sat next to the boy – next to Hermione who was still struggling to get the thing to hold together and had surely gone through an entire roll of tape by this point – and he waited for Ron to explain how. At last he did. The story was long, involved, and seemed to involve an illegally charmed Muggle artifact of his father's – something called a remote controlled car - that he had brought to school hoping to impress Lavender Brown. He had never gotten a chance to show it to her, however because the car had taken off of its own accord, attacked his wand, which had been sitting next to his trunk while he finished unpacking, and broken it before zooming out the door, through the open portrait hole, and down the corridor. "Probably gone for good," Ron said with a glum sag of his shoulders. "Dad would kill me if he knew. _Mum_ would kill me."

"You can't use that all year," Draco said, eyeing the wand. "You have to get a new one."

"And how am I supposed to justify that?" Ron demanded. "They're expensive, wands. We aren't all sodding rich, Malfoy."

Hermione gave him a disapproving look and handed the patched wand back to him. "This is as good a job as I can do," she said. "Maybe you should take it to McGonagall."

"Maybe," Ron muttered, though it was clear he had no intention of doing that.

"Don't you have any at home that belonged to relatives you could use?" Neville asked.

"Better to get your own," Draco said, dismissing Neville's suggestion. "Just because something suited your great-great-aunt or what-have-you doesn't mean it would suit you."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "I mean, we obviously didn't have wands lying around – not real ones – but wouldn't anything work just about as well?"

Draco blinked at her. Sometimes it was easy to forget she'd been raised by Muggles, but sometimes she just said things that made it obvious she had no idea how things worked in the real world. "Didn't you go to Ollivander's?" he asked. When she nodded he said, "Well, the reason he had you try multiple wands was that they're all a little different because they all have different woods and different cores and they just… they're almost alive. They have to _like you_ to work properly and the right wand can mean the difference between having your magic sputter along or be great."

"Oh." Hermione looked nervous.

Ron, who was testing his patched up wand with careful movements, snorted. "You've got the right wand," he said. "I hate to think how much more annoyingly right at everything you'd be if you got one even more suited to you."

Neville stood up and muttered he was going to go do some work.

"What's the matter with him?" Ron asked.

Draco shrugged.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Madam Pomfrey surveyed the second-year students getting settled on the stools she'd arranged in a series of semi-circles in the Infirmary. This, judging by the red ties, was the Gryffindor set. They'd tried doing this talk with multiple Houses at once one year and it had been an unmitigated disaster that she had vowed never to repeat. She always dreaded the Gyffindors the most. Ravenclaws and Slytherins didn't like to admit they didn't already know everything she brought up and the Hufflepuffs were generally too nice to try to make one another uncomfortable. Gryffindors, however, seemed to dare one another into who could ask the most outrageous questions while keeping a straight face.

She had a lovely bottle of firewhiskey in her bottom drawer, courtesy of Minerva, that she planned to open after this meeting was over.

She smiled as soberly as she could as the last student slouched into the room, his messy black hair a giveaway. The Potter boy. Pomfrey recalled he was being raised by Sirius Black and felt a sudden shiver of horror run down her spine.

The bottle, she told herself. It's waiting for you.

"Welcome, everyone," she said and they all shuffled a bit and turned their eyes onto her. "As you know, in Second Year we begin your Sex Education curriculum. This year we'll be covering the mechanics of human reproduction and I'll be answering any questions you have. I'm sure that most of you have already covered this information with your parents but we like to make sure no one falls through the gaps."

She launched into as technical a description of intercourse as possible, one perfected after multiple years of giving this talk. As expected, this did not appear to be news to any of the students facing her. Some of them were turning dull shades of red as they stared at their feet but no one seemed aghast. Every few years that happened and she wanted to string those parents up by their toes. The real torture, however, was never the medical explanation of how babies were made. The real torture was the question and answer session.

After a description of pregnancy and reassurance that modern magical techniques made childbirth very safe and virtually pain free ("Though some women opt to go without pain charms and that's fine too"), she smiled again and said, "Now, does anyone have any questions?"

"What's it like having a baby?"

Madam Pomfey identified the speaker as one of the Patil girls and tried to remember which had been sorted into Gryffindor and then decided it didn't matter. "Well, Miss Patil," she said, "It's a lot of work. Sometimes people think they might want a baby because they feel unloved and they think with a baby they'll have someone who will absolutely love them, but babies need to be fed every few hours and you don't get a lot of sleep and so while they do love you, you don't get to really enjoy that love." She took a deep breath. "While we want you to ensure you understand how reproduction works, especially since many of your girls are surely menstruating by now, I cannot emphasize enough that we do not want you to be actually having intercourse because you do not want a baby."

"What about contraceptive charms?"

She sighed. That was the Weasley boy. Six of them and you'd think she'd be used to them by now.

"We don't teach contraceptive charms until sixth year, Mr. Weasley."

"Where are the books on the contraceptive charms?"

A predictable question and she frowned as repressively as she could at the speaker. "They are in the Restricted Section of the library, Mr. Malfoy."

"Could I get a pass to the Restricted Section?"

She couldn't identify who that one was and didn't know their voices well enough yet to suss out who it was so she answered with a simple, "No."

She saw Harry Potter lean over to Draco Malfoy and say in a stage whisper, "Don't worry, I'll just write and ask Sirius."

Her professional smile tightened and she was reminding herself of the bottle in her desk when one boy asked, his voice a mixture of bold and nervous, "What does it mean to pop a girl's cherry?"

"It means to have sex with her for her first time," she replied. "'Cherry' is a slang term for hymen, though most girls have long since torn that membrane just be being physically active by the time they have intercourse for the first time."

It went downhill from there, as it always did. They filed out, pamphlets in their hands and laughing in the way twelve-year-old did when they wanted to cover how uncomfortable they were and seem as cool as possible. When she turned around Minerva was standing by her desk with two glasses. "I assume with Black's influence on the Malfoy and Potter boys this was more ridiculous then usual so I thought you might like company."

"You are a good friend," Pomfrey said. "A truly good friend."

. . . . . . . . . .

Remus read the letter over Sirius' shoulder and snorted. "You know that if you send him information on contraceptive charms, Narcissa will kill you and your body will never be found."

"I wasn't going to do it," Sirius muttered. "They're babies."

. . . . . . . . . .

Narcissa folded the page on which she'd written out instructions for three different contraceptive charms into neat thirds and attached it to the leg of the waiting owl. "Honestly," she muttered to herself, "the way they don't teach these until sixth year is archaic."

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N – The second half of this chapter owes a debt of gratitude to shayalonnie, who took my idea to do it and encouraged me, and my seventh grade sex ed class, taught by a very tired, very new mother science teacher and a priest. The questions on babies and cherries are verbatim from that class. Some things you never forget.**_


	19. Chapter 19

_Do you think my wand might be the problem?_ Neville had debated asking the diary this but ever since Ron had broken his and Draco had dismissed inherited wands as a bad idea Neville had started to obsess over the idea that it wasn't that he was a bad wizard, it was that he had the wrong wand.

 _Did you pick it out yourself?_ the diary asked.

 _It was my dad's_ , Neville wrote. _He was hurt in the war. He doesn't need one anymore._

There was a long pause as if the diary were thinking about this and, at last, the words swirled into being on the page. _That won't work at all. Is there any way you can get your own wand?_

Neville stared down at the old-fashioned, somewhat showy but still masculine script, and felt a stirring in the depths of his soul. What if he weren't a pudgy little nobody who could barely remember the passwords to the common room? What if he were actually a powerful wizard and the only thing holding him back was the wrong wand? Wouldn't that be something? Neville took a long moment to let the fantasy of himself as a talented wizard saturate his very core. What would it be like to be the prodigy, to be the one teachers praised instead of sighed at, to be the one girls looked at with impressed eyes?

He picked up his quill. _I'll find a way_ , he wrote.

 _Good_. The word appeared and then the whole page went blank and Neville closed the diary. He was never going to let Draco Malfoy know what a treasure the boy had accidentally given him. He wasn't sure what this diary was but he didn't care. It listened to him. It never told him he wasn't trying hard enough or asked why he couldn't be more like his father. It never berated him. It just offered kind words and simple suggestions.

It was something he could safely pour his soul into without fear of rejection and he was pretty sure he loved it.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione put what she was starting to think of as her 'Quidditch Face' on as Draco, back from another practice, talked to her about everything they had done. He shared details of how he had flown, feints he had made, and how he'd seen the Snitch. Madam Hootch had watched the practice and had complimented him on his flying. Oliver Wood had told him they were sure to win the Quidditch cup now that they had decent Seeker. He was launching into an explanation of how a certain move he'd done especially well was very much like the style of play favored by a well know Bulgarian Quidditch player when she yawned.

"I'm sorry," she said at his offended glare. "I… it's just I have a lot of reading to do for classes and -."

"That's quite all right," Draco said, looking at the copy of _Wandering with Werewolves_ she had open in front of her. "That book contains factual inaccuracies, you know."

That caught her attention. "It does?" She picked it up and looked at the picture on the back of Lockhart in his purple cape looking smug and winking. "But it says – "

"Just ask Harry," Draco said. "He'll tell you. I'm going to go practice flying some more. Are you coming?"

Hermione set the book down and said, "I can't really keep up with you on the pitch, Draco." She was tired of Quidditch already and the first game hadn't even been played yet. If he wasn't practicing Quidditch he was talking about Quidditch and if he wasn't talking about playing Quidditch himself he was talking about professional Quidditch. There were statistics and he and Ron and Harry seemed to know all of them. She was pretty sure if she asked them who was the first Quidditch player to eat ice cream while simultaneously playing a lute they'd know. Neville, at least, didn't seem to care about the stupid game, but he'd been withdrawn this year and she wasn't sure why.

"I can." Draco and Hermione turned and Ron's little sister, Ginny, was looking at them. "I'll go fly with you," she said, "if Hermione really doesn't want to."

"I'm pretty fast," Draco said with doubt in his voice. Hermione could see how he didn't believe the little ginger could keep up with him and found herself offended on the other girl's behalf.

"Do you think she can't keep up with you because she's a girl?" Hermione demanded.

Draco looked nervous; he knew there was no right answer here.

"I can," Ginny said, "keep up, I mean." Her eyes sparkled.

Hermione made a shooing gesture at both of them. Draco gave her a guarded look and then, almost defiantly, turned to Ginny Weasley and said, "Fine. Let's go flying."

Parvati Patil, who'd kept silent throughout the whole exchange, watched Draco and Ginny both as they exited through the portrait hole and then said, "Well, that was dumb of you."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded.

Parvati gave her an exasperated look and said, "For a smart girl, you're really stupid," and then picked up her bag and headed back to their shared dorm room leaving Hermione sitting at the table, alone and bewildered.

. . . . . . . . . .

Lockhart beamed at the assembled class. "I have a treat for you today," he said. "A genuine treat."

"Biscuits?" Seamus asked. They'd all gotten their quizzes back and there had been general displeasure from everyone but Hermione at the results. Lockhart had scolded them for not knowing that his favorite colour – and now Draco's least favorite – was lilac. Hermione had even known the man's birthday, a feat that had earned her 10 points for Gryffindor and a look from Draco she hadn't acknowledged.

Lockhart's smile faltered a moment before he pasted it back on. "No, my dear boy," he said. "Not _biscuits_. A practical lesson. I am here to arm you against the foulest – the very foulest – demons that range themselves against wizards and witches and there is, after all, only so much that can be learned from books – though I _do_ appreciate how thoroughly you, Miss Granger, have read mine," he added with one of his toothy smiles directed at her. Lockhart had either been blessed with excellent teeth or had spent the whole of his royalties from one of those stupid books he wrote on very straight, very white teeth. They almost sparkled when he smiled. It was, in Draco's opinion, unnatural.

Not, of course, that one should tolerate bad teeth. That Marcus Flint in Slytherin was an example of someone whose parents should have budgeted a few more galleons for tooth straightening charms, but there was a point at which it became freakish; staring at Lockhart's mouth as he smiled at Hermione, Draco concluded that Lockhart had passed that point some time ago.

"Today, students, you will face down a foe that will test your mettle and give you a change to use your magic," Lockhart was continuing and Draco tried to pay attention. "You must stay calm and not scream lest you provoke them."

"What is it?" Dean Thomas asked.

Lockhart whipped a purple cover off a cage and announced, "Freshly caught Cornish pixies!"

Neville, who had been cowering in his seat, let out a bark of laughter that no one could mistake for fear. The contemptuous laugh seemed out of place from the sweet boy and Draco gave him an uneasy look, almost expecting to see a different student in his place but it was just Neville, soft little Neville who could barely find the right side of a cauldron.

"Well, those aren't exactly dangerous," Seamus said. "Still would have preferred biscuits."

"Don't be so sure," Lockhart said. "They can be very tricky!" And with that he flung the cage open and released the flock of pixies into the classroom.

Draco had never had the bad fortune of running into a pixie before as his mother kept a pest control company on permanent retainer so he was shocked by what happened as soon as the creatures escaped their cage. They were small – only about eight inches high – and bright blue and chattered in high pitched voices that grated in the way the sound of screeching toddlers can grate. They were also very strong and very destructive. They upended desks and spilled ink and ripped the curtains down from the windows. Draco watched them fly at Parvati and screech in her face as she cowered under her arms and struggled to hide under her desk. They seemed to be avoiding Neville but they flew up to Seamus and made faces at him; he waved his wand and shouted, " _crepitusissi_ " which caused something near the closest pixie to erupt in a mini-explosion and the rest of the pests to scatter. Unfortunately, that meant that more of them became interested in Draco and Hermione shrieked as one perched on Draco's head and began yanking on his hair.

She pointed her wand at the pixie and used a clever freezing charm to immobilize it and Draco yanked the miserable thing out of his hair and shoved it back into its cage.

Harry followed Hermione's lead, as did Neville and Lavender, and, by the time the bell rang, Lockhart had disappeared and half the pixies had been frozen. "This sucks," Lavender said as Dean, Seamus, Ron, and Parvati fled into the hall. "Where's Lockhart?" She froze another pixie and shoved it into the cage with a gesture devoid of all gentleness.

"Gone," Neville said. "Coward."

"Idiot," Draco agreed.

"Maybe he just wanted to see what we could do?" Hermione suggested but that idea elicited nothing but groans from the people who'd stayed behind.

Harry took a frozen pixie and made eye contact with Draco who smirked back at him. "Snape?" Harry mouthed to Draco's obvious delight and, when Hermione's attention was focused on getting an especially stubborn pixie down from behind a picture frame, he tucked the immobilized creature into a specimen jar from a shelf in the back of the room, added an air hole to the lid, and tucked it into his bag.

"So, if we're all done here I'm going to go," Harry said. "Draco, do you have the notes from Potions?"

"They're in our room," Draco said.

"Mind if I borrow them?" Harry asked as he backed toward the door, keeping his body between his bag and Hermione even though she was still concentrating on the pixie she was trying to subdue.

"You two go on," she said. "Lavender, Neville and I can get these last few, right?"

Lavender shoved another pixie into the cage. "We're fine without you," she agreed.

"Great," Draco said. "See you all at dinner?"

Neville's freezing spell sputtered and choked and he shook his wand with a grimace of irritation on his face and tried it again. "Yeah," he said as the pixie dropped to the floor. "Dinner."

. . . . . . . . . . .

"Did you hear?" Seamus leaned over to Draco at dinner. The table had been laid with cottage pie again and while no one could deny that the Hogwarts elves made a truly superior cottage pie Draco found himself wishing for something a little fresher as he poked at it. He'd never expected to miss his mother's annoying insistence on having a greenhouse so they could have truly fresh greens with every meal but he did.

"No, what?" he asked as he sighed and spooned dinner onto his plate.

"One of the pixies got away."

"It did not," Hermione said, glaring at Seamus. "You may have fled but Lavender and Neville stayed with me until every single pixie was frozen and locked up again. _And_ they came with me to Professor McGonagall to complain." Her irritation at the entire pixie debacle was more than clear and Seamus flinched away a bit at the fury in her voice.

"What did she say?" Parvati asked, more curious about McGonagall's reaction to yet another incompetent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher than what had happened to the errant pixie.

"She said that was terrible to hear," Lavender muttered. "And something about how she'd picked the third class in the staff pool, not the second."

Ron snickered and, when he saw Lavender glare at him, became very interested in dishing up his own meal. "You wouldn't think it was so funny if you'd stayed to help clean up," the girl muttered. "One _bit_ me."

"Anyway," Seamus cut back in, "Maybe one of them got out when Lockhart fled, I don't know, but guess what it did?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and waited for the punch line.

"Went to Snape's classroom," Seamus declared.

The whole section of their table turned and looked at the high table where Professor Snape looked angrier than usual. His greasy hair was in disarray and there was a scratch along one cheek he hadn't healed. He was scowling at Professor Lockhart who appeared to be oblivious. Professor McGonagall looked like she was trying not to laugh as she eyed both men.

Harry had his arms crossed and a blatant smirk on his face as he watched Snape simmer. Seamus began to describe the rumored destruction, including potions ingredients flung into cauldrons resulting in at least three explosions, a preserved snake of some sort thrown at the much loathed professor, and a hex launched at the pixie that went astray and turned a deer skull into a flock of starlings, and Harry's smile got wider and wider.

"No," Draco breathed out.

He realized he didn't sound convincing when Hermione stopped staring at Snape and looked first at him, then at Harry, then back at him. "Draco Malfoy," she began.

"Hey," he said before she could continue, "Do you think you could look over my essay?"

Hermione glared at him. "Your _Potions_ essay?" she asked him. "I'm sure I have a _lot_ of questions about your potions work."

"Oh, come on," Draco said, nudging her, "Don't be like that."

"He better not ever find out," she muttered. "You two will lose us every point Gryffindor has ever gotten. Every last one."

. . . . . . . . .

 **A/N – Eh. I got nothing today. Reviews make me happy. So do macaroons and baby rabbits.**


	20. Chapter 20

_Dear Gran,_ Neville wrote. _I have talked to some people about some of my magic issues and they think maybe a new wand would help. It's not that I don't appreciate everything Dad did, it's just that I'm a different person and I want to be –_

He glanced over at the diary and copied out Tom's words.

 _I want to be the best wizard I can be to honor his memory and I don't think I can do that without a wand of my own. Do you think you could pick me up some weekend so we could go to Ollivander's? I love you. Neville_.

He set the quill down and shook his hand a few times before picking the feather up again and pulling the diary toward him. _Are you sure_? he wrote. _She can be really hard when it's anything about my dad._

 _You can trust me_ , the diary reassured him. _Have I ever steered you wrong?_

. . . . . . . . . .

Lucius tucked a strand of his wife's hair, as blonde as his own, behind her ear and smiled at her. "Poor Draco," he murmured as he propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Narcissa's languid and smiling countenance. "Between the two of us the poor boy was doomed to be pale."

She laughed and reached up to tug on one of Lucius' own blond locks. The sun streamed in through the open window and they could both hear the occasional bird objecting to the vagaries of avian life. The warmth would have made them both sleepy even if they hadn't spent the afternoon in bed enjoying one of the benefits of boarding school. "I wish we'd been able to give the boy a sibling," Narcissa said.

"Wasn't for lack of trying," Lucius said. "Some things just aren't meant to be." He sat up and reached for a string to bind his hair back. "Fate gave him Harry, at least."

"Mmm," Narcissa agreed. "Fate." She lay silent for a moment before adding, a trifle wistfully, "I would have liked a daughter, however. Some little blonde angel – "

"Any daughter of yours would be a hellion," Lucius interrupted her. "Those Black genes are strong."

" – to take shopping and teach how to enchant any boy," Narcissa continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"The very idea fills me with terror," Lucius said. "A miniature you. I would have had a heart attack by now, my love." He reached a hand out and traced his thumb along the bottom bow of Narcissa's lips. "Have pity on an old man and don't wish daughters upon me."

"Not that old," she said, eying him. "Not so old we couldn't – "

"Not that old indeed," Lucius agreed as he bent down to kiss her again and begin another round of afternoon delights.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione looked at the table Draco had laboriously drawn on a large sheet of parchment in perplexity; he had written down a whole list of names across one side and confusing abbreviations across the top and was filling in data in each cell. "What class is that for?" she asked. Harry, who was seated next to Draco, made a rude snort and kept writing his Transfiguation essay; Harry had, as was not unusual for him, left it to the last possible day.

"No class," he said. "I'm calculating the goals and assists ratios of all the chasers on every British Quidditch team. Ginny swears that the Chudley Canons have much better statistics than their final win-loss tally would imply and that their real problem is that they don't have a good seeker but that the rest of the team is solid and – "

"This is about Quidditch?" Hermione interrupted him. "You're doing all this work for _Quidditch_?"

"Yeah." Draco didn't look up. "I had to figure out how to calculate percentages but I think I've got it."

"Oh." Hermione at down and slumped a bit in the hard, wooded chair. She looked around the Common Room. Everyone else was either out enjoying the perfect fall day or doing schoolwork. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a walk," she said. "I got a new book, an illustrated guide to dragons. But I guess you're pretty busy…" she trailed off. It probably would have ended there if Harry hadn't kicked Draco under the table.

"Ow," the boy said. "Git."

Harry didn't look up but Draco noticed Hermione's somewhat forlorn expression and pushed his Quidditch statistics away. "You have a book about dragons?" he asked.

She nodded but muttered something about how he was busy with his numbers and she didn't want to get in the way. Draco fumbled with his chair and nearly knocked it over when he stood up. "I'd love to get outside," he said. He pulled a jumper off the back of that chair and slung it over one shoulder with what he probably thought was a slick move. Hermione grabbed at her book and the pair of them walked to the portrait hole with an assumed casualness that made Harry snicker behind them. Once they were in the corridor and free of Harry's knowing smirk, Draco reached out and took Hermione's hand with the fingers that weren't holding the jumper that insisted on sliding down his shoulder instead of staying properly in its place and she gave him a shy smile.

By the time they'd reached the lake Draco had given up on the idea of the jumper held jauntily over one shoulder but it was still handy to spread out on the dirt for Hermione to sit on. He'd seen his father do that once with a quite nice robe for his mother and felt pleased with himself for being able to replicate the gesture. She fumbled with the book and pointed to a very nice illustration of a Hungarian Horntail.

"Must have been wild for you to find you dragons were real," Draco said.

"It was," she said, not quite looking at him.

Their noses bumped three times before they figured out a way to angle themselves to get their lips together without impediment.

. . . . . . . . . .

When they got back to the Gryffindor common room Hermione' brief respite from the maw that was Quidditch was over. Fred and George picked Draco up as soon as he passed into the room and swung him around.

"The day you were Sorted into Gryffindor – "

" – was the best day ever!"

Hermione looked from one twin to the other. They took pity on her and Fred – or maybe it was George – said, "His dad just donated brooms for the whole team. The _best_ brooms. A bunch of Nimbus 2001s!"

"I didn't even know you could buy those yet," the other twin said. "I mean, I've read about them, of course – "

"Who hasn't?"

" – but to actually get to fly one?"

Harry was heard muttering something about how Sirius would have donated brooms too. One twin clapped him on the shoulder. "Tough luck, mate," he said. "You'll be a Chaser next year. Katie's already said this is her last year flying; something about having to buckle down for grades." Both twins and Harry made faces that made their opinion of prioritizing ridiculous things like grades over Quidditch.

Hermione was frowning. "What's the matter?" Draco asked her.

"I just… I don't want anyone to accuse you of buying your way onto the team," she said. "I know you got there because you're such a good flyer but…"

Draco preened at her unconscious praise of his flying skills.

"Don't worry," George – or maybe Fred – said to her. "The man waited until after the rosters had been published. It's all clearly on the up and up. Anyone who accuses our boy of buying his way on - "

" – is just a jealous git – "

" – and we'll be sure to tell him so."

. . . . . . . . . .

Blaise stared at Greg Goyle with fury slowly blooming over his mean face. "Malfoy's father bought them _all_ brooms?" he asked again.

"All of them," Goyle confirmed.

Blaise almost stomped his feet in fury. He'd been counting on the lackluster equipment of the Gryffindor team to give an advantage to the Slytherins. Not that they needed new brooms, of course. The Slytherin team all had the best, or nearly the best, that money could buy. Marcus Flint, the team captain, saw the boy's frustration and laughed. "Don't worry, Blaisey," he said. "We're still a better team and I'm sure you can outfly that Malfoy brat."

Blaise almost snarled. "I'll show that pasty-faced git who's the better Seeker if I have to hex his white arse."

"That's the spirit," Flint said. "I think I may just go get Professor Snape to sign off on giving us practice time on the pitch. We do have a new Seeker to train, after all."

"So do they," Adrian Pucey, one of the Slytherin Chasers, pointed out.

"So?" Flint asked.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Where's Neville?" Ron asked Dean. They'd been planning a hike out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest in hopes of catching a glimpse of one of the monsters rumored to live inside it but though Seamus was ready to go Neville was nowhere to be found.

"Hogsmeade," Ginny said from couch.

"I didn't ask _you_ ," Ron snapped.

"But I know the answer," she retorted and the pair of them glowered at one another, caught in the throes of sibling rivalry. Dean nudged Ron to shut up and then gave her a much more encouraging look and she relented and added, "His gran came up to take him shopping for a new wand. I guess he's been using his dad's and, well, you know what that's like."

Ron managed not to look down at his own wand, also inherited from a family member and still held together with spell-o-tape. "Yeah," he muttered.

"See you later?" Dean asked Ginny before the three boys filed out the portrait hole.

"Yeah," she said with a grin.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione trailed the Quidditch team down to their first practice. Draco had nearly begged her to come along and even though she found the sport boring at best and his flying terrifying at worst she had agreed to go. They made it all the way to the pitch, Draco jabbering at her about how much fun this would be with the new broom the whole time, but once there they were met with the unwelcome sight of not an empty arena but of the gathered Slytherin team.

"I have this booked," Oliver Wood said, sounding irritated that he had to chase their main rivals away. "I don't know when your practice time is but it's not now."

"Au contraire," a hulking boy Hermione didn't know said. The daughter of dentists, she gaped in shock at his wretched teeth before she controlled her rudeness and looked away. His unfortunate teeth were crooked and yellowing and while Hermione knew wizards didn't have anything quite as mundane as braces he could have used a pair. "We have the pitch now," tooth boy continued.

"No," Oliver said, "you don't. We're on the schedule, Flint."

Tooth boy, or rather Flint, held out a sheet of paper that Oliver Wood snatched from him and read aloud. It was a note from Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House, and it granted the Slytherin team priority scheduling for the pitch in order that they might train their new Seeker.

"And what Seeker is that?" Oliver demanded. "And ours is new too."

"Blaise Zabini," Flint said, "and you can take up your own training needs with Professor McGonagall. I'm sure she'd be willing to – no, wait, she wouldn't. We all know she won't bump you to the top of the pitch list so, sorry, guess you'll just have to sign up for times we don't want."

"That is not fair," Oliver blustered.

"Says the Captain of the team who let a little boy buy his way into the Seeker's position with new brooms," said Flint. "At least our Seeker got in our pure talent."

"He didn't buy his way in." Hermione pushed her way to the front of the group of Gryffindor and confronted Flint with her hands on her hips. "You're just jealous."

"No one asked your opinion, Mudblood," Blaise Zabini snapped.

"How _dare_ you," Alicia shrieked from deep in the pack of Gryffindor players and even Flint looked shocked.

Draco lunged toward the boy without thinking and punched him in the nose before Oliver Wood hauled him back. Zabini had staggered back a few steps, more in shock at the physical nature of the attack then anything else, and had his hand lifted to his face. When he looked at his fingers and saw the blood that had trickled out of his nose he spat on the ground. "Blood traitor," he said. "Now I'll have to wash to get the stain of your filthy paws off me."

Draco spat back and the two boys glared at one another as Flint kept one hand on Blaise Zabini and Oliver Wood didn't let go of Draco.


	21. Chapter 21 (The Chamber is Opened!)

Draco received multiple detentions for punching Zabini. Further, Professor Snape took 30 points from Gryffindor when he stalked out to the Quidditch pitch, robes billowing behind him, having been alerted to the conflict by one of Zabini's thuggish henchmen.

"But Professor," Oliver Wood began. Alicia spoke over them, "He called her a – "

Professor Snape interrupted them both. "I am uninterested in whatever language Mr. Zabini might have used. Hogwarts rules do not have a provision for 'fighting words', Miss Johnson. Those rules, however, do frown on fisticuffs." He eyed Draco. "I'm sure your parents would be most disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy."

Alicia began to mutter something about her name but stopped when Oliver Wood nudged her with his elbow.

If Professor Snape expected Draco to fold under the obvious threat to inform the boy's parents of his misdeeds, however, he was doomed to be disappointed. "I doubt it," Draco muttered. "I think my mum might actually take me out for ice cream if – when – she hears."

"I wonder what Harry'll do when I tell him about what you said," Draco nearly hissed. "Because I don't think he'll be thrilled either."

"Surely you aren't threatening Mr. Zabini with more violence," Professor Snape asked, his voice as smooth as custard, heavy and sweet and nearly gelatinous with anticipated pleasure. "I'd so hate to have to give Mr. Potter detention as well."

"I bet," Draco muttered. "I just bet."

"What was that, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Snape asked. "Did I hear you say you enjoyed cleaning with Mr. Filch so much you yearned for yet more detentions?"

"Nothing, sir," Draco said, his voice much more polite.

"Draco," Hermione tugged on his arm as they walked away from the pitch and the Slytherin Quidditch team. "You're going to lose us every point ever." Her voice, however, sounded far less upset than he would have expected after he lost them 30 points. "You can't just go hitting everyone who calls me a…a…"

"You wanna bet?" Draco said, scowling as he glanced back over his shoulder at Zabini who was playing up his injury for a fawning Tracey Davis. "Next time I'll be smart enough to hex him so there's no mark or proof though."

"Draco," she said again as if to scold him but the way she slipped her hand into his and smiled at him would have warmed hearts far colder than his. He grinned down at her and missed much of Oliver Wood's rant about the way Professsor Snape played favorites for Slytherin and how were they supposed to practice and began paying attention again when the boy snapped, "You better catch that snitch before that little shite, Zabini, Malfoy!"

"Oh, he will," Alicia said. "He's got motivation now." She tossed a glare back over her shoulder. "We all do. What a horrid little brat." She reached over and ruffled Draco's hair and he gave her an aggrieved look at her smirk. "I'm glad you're one of us, Malfoy, instead of with those arseholes."

"They aren't all like that," Hermione said.

Angelina snorted. "Enough of them are," she said. "Merlin-be-damned little blood purists and racists. If they weren't like that they wouldn't have been Sorted into that House." She gave Hermione a serious look. "Trust me, kid, stay away from the snakes."

Hermione gave Draco an uneasy glance and he squeezed her hand.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione slipped into the library nook where she always met Theo, a copy of _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ in one hand and her school bag clutched in the other. He looked up with his usual shy smile on his face, a smile that faded when he saw the set of her jaw.

"What happened," he asked.

"Blaise Zabini called me a Mudblood," she said. Theo flinched and flinched again when she added, "Professor Snape gave Draco detention because he hit him."

Theo ducked his head. "He doesn't know you," he hedged. "It's… it's just the way our families talk, Hermione. He doesn't – "

"Don't tell me he doesn't mean anything by it," she said. She was almost crying and Theo looked up in shock at the way her words came out choked and angry. "A…Angelina said you're all like that. All of you!" The near accusation hung in the air between them. "She's right, isn't she? You're ashamed to be seen with me, aren't you? It's okay to trade books as long as no one knows but – "

Theo ducked his head again and stared down at the floor. "I have to live with him, Hermione," he muttered at last. "In a small room. Do you want me to – "

"I want you to admit you know me," she said, thrusting the book into his hand. "If you don't want to be my friend in public then we aren't really friends."

Theo held onto the book and stared at her with stricken eyes.

"Give that back when you're willing to give it to me in front of everyone," she said. "Otherwise you can keep it. A parting gift from me." She turned and stalked out of the library, leaving the dark haired boy behind her, his fingers curled around the slim text she'd handed him and his throat bobbing as he swallowed back his feelings.

. . . . . . . . . .

"He called her _what_?" Harry demanded.

Draco glared at his friend. "Don't make me say it again," he said.

"I'm going to kill him," Harry muttered. "Kill him dead."

Neville looked up from where he was working on his essay and smiled.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"How's the new wand working out?" Hermione asked Neville.

He grinned at her and flicked his new wand back and forth a few times. "It's great," he said. "It's a bit tricky, you know? I got so used to having nothing work no matter how much magic I tried to push at it than now I feel like I'm putting too much into things or something. Like I can't control it because I've got too much power, not too little."

Hermione squinted at him. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I can't explain it, exactly," he said, sounding frustrated. "But I overdo it a lot and I must be getting really tired because I keep kind of losing track of time. I mean, suddenly it's afternoon and I don't know where the day went."

"That's weird," Hermione said. "I guess you'll adjust?" She sounded as if that were the only possible logical answer and Neville looked relieved.

"You have to be right," he said. "I mean, most people don't get new wands in the middle of school. Sometimes as an adult if they break them but by then they're fully trained wizards so the transition is probably easier."

Hermione leaned over and kissed him on the temple. "I'm glad your gran let you get a new wand," she said. "When you told me you'd written to her to ask her to take you shopping I was afraid she'd say no. You'll figure it out. Just give it time." She pulled her own homework out of her bag. "Did you hear about the roosters?" she asked.

"No?" Neville looked at her with a look of vague interest at best.

"I guess some animal got into the henhouse and killed all of them," she said.

"Only the roosters?" Neville asked as he took out a knife and began sharpening his quill in preparation for his own essay. New wands were great and certainly made the practical work easier but he still had to write the endless essays teachers seemed to love. "No chickens? That is weird."

"I heard a professor say they figured the chickens all hid in the henhouse but the roosters got aggressive with whatever got into their enclosure."

"That makes sense," Neville agreed. "At least we'll still have eggs with breakfast if whatever it was left the hens alone."

Hermione grinned at him. "Silver linings," she agreed. "Do you have any thoughts on this ridiculous essay topic?"

"Write big?" Neville suggested and she laughed.

. . . . . . . . .

Harry listened to the snake hissing in the walls and wondered if he should tell anyone. Sirius had told him being able to speak and understand Parseltongue didn't make him evil but he wasn't sure anyone else would believe that. He glanced over at Draco and opened his mouth to ask Draco's opinion than closed it again. He'd heard it more and more frequently lately and every time he felt more and more nervous but, really, what could a snake do to people. It was probably just hunting rats or something. That would explain why it kept talking about blood and being hungry.

Rats.

They were the only thing a snake was dangerous to. And he didn't want people to think he was a freak. Harry glanced nervously at Draco one more time before turning his mind away from snakes and the risk of being an outcast to the stupid transfiguration essay he still hadn't written.

. . . . . . . . . .

The shriek filled the hallway and brought people running. When they reached the sound of the noise they found Hermione standing, shaking and holding onto Draco as she pointed at a message that had been painted on the wall with red paint that still dripped to the floor, leaving a blood puddle on the stones. Harry stood next to them, his mouth agape though no sound came out.

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED_

 _ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE_

A cat was hung near the message, stiff and unbending, and the increasing crowd milled about, unsure what to do until the sound brought Argus Filch, the much hated castle caretaker to the scene. His predictable outrage at the mess on the wall and floor had only begun to burble out of him when he saw the cat and froze, as rigid as the animal.

"What have you _monsters_ done to my cat," he demanded, spinning around to face the students. "Which of you horrid little beasts did this?" He spun back to the cat and took her down with a gentleness that surprised all the onlookers, as did the way he cradled the creature in his arms. "You've killed her." He looked up, swinging his head around. "I'll murder whichever of you little horrors did this," he said.

Headmaster Dumbledore, who did seem to manage to appear wherever there was an incident if it suited him to do so, glided his way into the mass of students who parted before him and let him to the front of the crowd where he surveyed the message on the wall, the cat in Filch's arms, and the shaking trio of 12-year-olds who'd arrived at the scene first. Other teachers, including both McGonagall and Lockhart, followed him.

"Goodness," Dumbledore said, peering at the message, and then at the cat, and then back at the message. "What has happened here?"

"My cat is dead," Filch said in fury, "and one of these monsters did it." He pointed at Hermione, Draco, and Harry.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," McGonagall said just as Lockhart poked at the cat and said, "Clearly she was killed using a Transmogrifian Torture, seen it many times, pity I wasn't there, could have saved the poor creature." The man looked up at Harry and said, "I must say, lad, that's a bit more than I'd expect from a second-year-student; your adventure with he-who-must – "

"Yes, quite," McGonagall said, cutting him off. "Albus, what do you think this is."

Professor Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the cat and said, "Petrification, dear Argus. She's not dead."

"He did it," Filch shrieked again, pointing, though given how his finger wavered it was hard to tell whether he meant Harry or Draco.

"Don't be ridiculous," McGonagall said right as Lockhart said, "Petrification, exactly what I would have said."

"This is advanced Dark magic," Dumbledore said. "No student did this." He glanced at the very relieved looking trio for a moment and then back at Filch. Let us go into a nearby office – "

"Mine is closest," Lockhart said importantly. "You are more than welcome to use mine."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, his voice grave though his eyes twinkled perhaps a bit more than was seemly given the circumstances. "Your office would be most appreciated, Gilderoy. We shall examine this unfortunate cat and discuss what to do about both her and this." He tipped his head toward the wall.

"Give the little monsters detention," Filch muttered. "Have them scrub it in chains."

"I think that will be unnecessary," Dumbledore said. He waved his wand at the wall and murmured something under his breath and the paint all disappeared, as did several dozen years of grime. "I was referring more to the issue at hand than the mess, Argus."

The caretaker looked disappointed he wouldn't be able to stand over weeping students as they scrubbed but he followed the Headmaster and professors to Gilderoy Lockhart's office, his cat still cradled in his arms. There was a lull as the students looked at one another and tried to think of what to do next. With the graffiti and cat gone there seemed no reason to stay and yet no one was quite sure whether it was acceptable to just leave.

"You'll be next, Mudblood." The silence was broken by Zabini shoving his way to the front of the crowd. He smirked at Hermione. "Get ready to die, loser," he said. "The Heir of Slytherin isn't going to like that your kind is here."

Theodore Nott pushed past Zabini and walked over to where Hermione stood with Draco and Harry. He had her book in his hand. "Thank for loaning me this, Hermione," he said. "I really enjoyed it." He stood at her side and stared at Zabini, his gaze unblinking.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _ **A/N - I update about once per week.**_


	22. Chapter 22

Theo flinched as Luna pressed her fingers into the bruise around his eye. "You must have quite an infestation of nargles in the Slytherin dorm if he hit you," she observed. "I would have expected a hex."

Theo put the ice pack back over his eye. Professor Snape had sneered at the discoloration and swelling and suggested only that if he were going to engage in the Muggle sport of fisticuffs he could rely on Muggle remedies. Luna was the one who had suggested an ice pack along with several hexes he'd never read about as possible retaliation . "You could call it nargles I guess," he muttered. "Not the word I would have used."

"Words," Luna agreed. At least it sounded like agreement. Luna was not always the easiest girl to understand but Theo thought he liked her company more than any other girl he knew. She managed to be both placid and unyielding and he was never quite sure what she was going to say.

"He said if I was going to stick up for a filthy Mud… Muggle-born then I deserved to get it the Muggle way," Theo said. Blaise Zabini had cornered him in their shared room and, while his henchmen held his victim down, punched him several times. Theo had known better than to report the abuse; this was a problem he'd have to take care of himself.

"Words," Luna said again. "But if he likes poetic responses, he'll enjoy some of the things in the book I gave you. Very wizarding." She patted Theo's hand. "You should play by the rules he set out. It'll be more fair that way. More sporting."

"I'd like to grind his pretty face into the dirt," Theo muttered.

"Page 73," Luna said as she stood up. "Do you want to go feed the thestrals? There's a new baby."

Theo looked at her and asked, his face burning, "Like as friends?"

"I don't know," Luna said. "I've never really had a friend so I don't know quite how it goes." Theo stood up and with the hand that wasn't holding the ice to his face he fumbled for her hand. She looked down at their entwined fingers and then back at the the much taller boy. "I don't think Draco and Ginny hold hands," she said. "Are we more than friends?"

"Do you want to be?" Theo asked as he looked at anything but her face..

"I know even less about that," Luna said. "Are we going to feed the thestrals now?"

"Yes," Theo said. "Thank you for the book."

Luna squeezed his hand. "I think I like being more than friends with you," she said. "We need to go the kitchens first; the elves have a bag of meat scraps for me."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco found Hermione in the library with _Hogwarts: A History_ , as well as quite a few other books, open on the table in front of her. She was making one of her research faces and he slipped into the seat next to her and asked, "What have you found?"

Harry slid into the seat on the other side. "Okay, brilliant one," he said. "What's the Chamber of Secrets."

She made a frustrated noise. "It's a myth," she said. "I cornered Madam Pince and she found me these other books but all it seems to be is a legend. Everything that mentions it adds it's never been found and no one thinks it's really real." She looked at Draco. "Do you think you could ask your parents? Or Sirius?" she added.

Draco shook his head. "After last year, if I get in some new scrape this year my mum might actually lock my broom up for holiday."

Harry made an apologetic noise too. "They made me do a lyre concert, Hermione. They invited people. Remus could barely keep from laughing the entire time. I'd much rather we figure this one out on our own." He hesitated. "Do you think it might have anything to do with a big snake?"

"No," Hermione said. "Why would it."

"There's one in the walls," Harry muttered. "I can hear it." He rubbed at his face and mumbled something under his breath that neither could understand and when Hermione nudged him he repeated, a little louder, "I can understand snakes. Don't tell anyone."

"Is that weird?" she asked him. "I mean, weirder than moving staircases and flying brooms?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's… it's kind of bad. Just… don't tell, okay?"

"I won't," she promised him.

"What have you found out about the Chamber?" Draco said, getting back to what he considered a much more important subject. He'd known about Harry's snake thing for years; it was one of those things they didn't talk about. Not that he blamed his best mate for wanting to keep it secret. People wouldn't understand.

Hermione sighed. "Apparently Salazar Slytherin – one of the founders –"

"Yes, I know that," Draco said impatiently.

"Well," she went on, giving him an annoyed look, "he didn't want Hogwarts to accept people like me."

Draco nodded. "Witch burnings," he said.

"No one does that anymore," Hermione said with familiar exasperation. "Even Theo and Pansy admitted my parents are totally normal. Pansy called them 'boring'." She squinched up her nose before going back to the subject of the Chamber. "But, yes, he didn't want Muggle-borns here because he was afraid of us, which – ," she raised her voice before Draco could interrupt her again, "I can see makes sense given the time. So legend has it he built a Chamber that only he knew about and put a monster in it and sealed it up and left the school."

"And the Heir bullshite?" Harry asked.

"The only one who can open it," Hermione said. "But that's all I can find out and I wouldn't call these books reliable sources." She poked at one of them with disdain and the book flapped a few pages at her in protest before settling down.

"I wonder who the Heir of Slytherin is," Harry said. He glanced at Draco. "Smart money would have been on you, mate."

"I am not opening up any secret rooms and releasing monsters," Draco said. "I don't _like_ monsters. I'm _scared_ of monsters. I like _otters_. Cute, harmless little otters." He kept his voice as light as he could but they all looked at one another. Otters aside, if they didn't know him so well, Draco would have been the logical culprit.

"Pureblood," Hermione said.

"Long family history," Harry said.

"It would have made sense," Hermione admitted.

"Theo's family is nearly as old," Draco muttered.

"It's not Theo," Hermione said in a tone that allowed no argument.

"Blaise is the one with the stick up his arse about blood purity," Harry agreed. "Theo's come 'round." He leaned back in his chair. "If we had a way to overhear him, or…"

"We could ask Theo?" Hermione asked but Draco shook his head.

"I don't think you saw his eye earlier, Hermione," Draco said. "Now might not be a good time to have him cozy up to Zabini."

Hermione turned her head slowly and looked at Draco. One of the books on the table rustled uneasily at the change in mood and Draco swallowed hard. "What did that… that… unacceptable person do to Theo?" Hermione demanded.

"Unacceptable person?" Harry repeated with a snort. "Don't you mean that right wanker? Or that bloody arse – "

"Some of us were raised to watch our language," Hermione said without turning to look at the boy. "Draco?" she asked again.

"It just looked like someone hit him," Draco muttered. "Several times."

"Because he…?"

"Yeah," Draco said. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at the force of her glare. "I didn't do it," he said. "But you had to know – "

"I didn't," she said. She closed _Hogwarts: A History_ with a decisive thump. "Now I do. So Zabini's… and we need to find a way to overhear him talking about the Chamber and Heir. " She pursed her lips. "How about Polyjuice Potion?"

"What?" Harry asked her.

"Professor Snape mentioned it in Potions," she began.

"Oh, well, like I have nothing better to do than listen to Snape in Potions," Harry said.

"And you drink it and it turns you into anyone. We just need a hair from Zabini's goons and we can look just like them and he'll tell us anything."

"I don't want to look like Crabbe forever," Draco protested. Harry sniggered at the idea and made a gesture like a monkey scratching himself, complete with a monkey sound.

"It wears off," Hermione said with impatience. "Do you not listen to anything in class either?"

"He tends to drone on," Draco said, sounding like he was trying, and failing, to conjure up an air of guilt. "And I'm good at Potions. It's boring the way he repeats the same instructions fifteen times. 'Cut the tubers,'" Draco said in deft mimicry of Snape's sneering drawl. "'Into thin slices you need to cut the tubers. Cut them. Longbottom, that's not thin. Use the knife to cut them Miss. Patil. Mr. Potter, more cutting the tubers if you please, and less looking up Miss Brown's skirt – '."

"I never look up her skirt," Harry said. "Pansy would kill me." He scratched his nose. "Plus, she's ugly."

Hermione tried to keep from laughing. "You two are bad," she said.

"But you love us," Draco said.

She grinned at him. "Polyjuice?"

"How many school rules do you think we'll be breaking? Harry asked.

"Oh Merlin," she muttered. "At least fifty."

"We have to get some kind of trophy while we're in there," Harry said. "Something to let those snakes know someone breached their inner sanctum." He nearly licked his lips in anticipation. "We'll hang it in the Dining Hall."

"And get even with Zabini for Theo," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Draco said. They looked from one to another. "When do we start?" Draco asked.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"So," Professor Lockhart said as he pinned Harry to the floor, "The werewolf came at my like _this_ and then I did _this_ ," he stood up, his foot on Harry's chest, "And that evil demon was vanquished." He brushed his violet satin vest off and, taking his foot off Harry, arranged himself against the desk in a pose that wavered between dramatic and absurd. His idea of an engaging lesson had been to use Harry as the other actor in his restaging of the werewolf's ignominious defeat. Hermione's expression had become more and more incredulous as the performance had gone on. Lavender and Parvati had begun doodling, passing the sketch back and forth so each could add more details to their rendition of Lockhart on a stage in a cape while a badly costumed werewolf cowered. Dean and Seamus had leaned their heads together and laughed behind their hands until the end where they'd clapped vigorously and let out hooting cheers.

Lockhart bowed at their applause; Harry shot them looks that promised he'd find a way to get even later.

"Your homework is to compose a poem about my defeat of Wagga, Wagga the Werewolf. Don't be afraid to embrace modern poetic forms. Sonnets are good but blank verse is fine too!" Lockhart's smile was nothing if not encouraging.

Hermione looked at Draco who was making a sound like he was choking on something; Harry was struggling to his feet looking more put out than she would have expected even after being required to howl like a wolf in front of his classmates. She looked down at her copy of _Wandering with Werewolves_ with a frown on her face.

She approached the beaming professor before she left, a note granting her access to the Restricted Section of the library in her hands. She flattered the man, avoiding making eye contact with Harry as she did so, and gushed over his acting skills even as he signed the note without reading it. "Me best student," Lockhart said, chucking her under the chin. "Going to do some extra research on marvelous me, are you?"

"I am," she said, her eyes as wide as she could make them. "I want my poem to really capture the best of your wolfy conquest."

Harry was making a gagging face as he stood behind Lockhart and Draco was miming throttling himself. She kept her eyes on Lockhart's face to avoid losing her composure at their antics. By the time they'd reached the hall, however, she'd managed to hit each of them. "What would have happened if I'd started to giggle," she demanded. "And it can't _all_ be made up. He must have done some of the things he's written about."

Harry gave her a doubtful look. "Have you ever met my Uncle Remus," he asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"You'll have to come over next holiday," he said. "You can ask him some things. Just not on a full moon."

Hermione stared at him for a moment and then her eyes widened. "Oh," she said.

"That whole book's a load of shite," Harry said. "Total and utter shite."

"I like Remus," Draco said. "He always has good chocolate around and he shares."

Hermione nodded rather slowly and then waved the note she'd gotten the man to sign. "Should we go get the potion instructions at least?" she asked. "Then we can write our poems?"

"There once was a werewolf named Fred," Harry began.

"He ate Lockhart until he was dead," Draco suggested.

"He got indigestion," Harry said.

There was a pause while they all searched for words that rhymed with indigestion. At last Hermione said, "His diet he questioned."

"And said, 'Next time chocolate instead'," Draco finished up.

Hermione sighed. "We probably shouldn't turn that in," she said.

"But we could post it on the Common Room notice board," Harry said pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill right there in the corridor. "How did it start again?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N – I hope you continue to enjoy my wee gift to the dramione fandom, started because people asked for an expansion of a Drabble and continued on because of readers' expressed enthusiasm for the tale._**


	23. Chapter 23

Harry, Draco, and Hermione propped the moldy copy of _Potente Potions u_ p against the wall in the broken toilet and regarded the brewing instructions with dismay. They were detailed, lengthy, and included more than one hard-to-source ingredient. The worst part was having to get some part of the person you wished to mimic, hair or toenail clippings or some such. The idea of stealing Vincent Crabbe's toenails was nothing if not utterly repugnant; they all assumed he didn't wash his feet nearly often enough.

"That's not so bad," Harry said with more bravado than he felt. "I mean, yeah, we'll have to break into Professor Snape's private stores to get the ingredients, and it takes a month to brew but, hey, no giant monster dog this time, right?"

"Definitely an improvement," Draco agreed, trying not to think about the toenails.

"No musical instruments either," Harry added.

Hermione gave him a sour look. "I think I'd prefer another lyre to having to steal from Professor Snape." She looked down at the book again and began twisting one of her curls around a finger. "What if he catches us? What if it doesn't work? What if – "

"What if Zabini decides to pound on Theo again?" Draco asked her.

"We could teach him a lesson without having to break into – "Hermione began but she stopped and looked at the instructions with a sigh. "But we have to find out if it's him."

"Who else would it be?" Harry asked with a glower. "Stupid git."

"I can distract Snape," Draco offered. "He's sometimes at the Manor, skulking about." Draco made a face. 'I'm pretty sure mum hates him. I heard her mutter something once about 'emotionally stunted bat' –"

"Did mum really call Snape a bat?" Harry asked, his eyes sparkling even in the dim and filthy toilet. He and Professor Snape continued to dislike one another.

"Like I said," Draco muttered, "She doesn't like him but he's there sometimes so I could corner him in the hall with some kind of complicated Potions question and, even though I'm not one of his precious Slytherins, he'd have to take the time to talk to me."

"It's a plan," Harry announced. "You distract, we steal, then you and Hermione brew the sucker up." He reached over and closed the book with a slam. "Though no one would cry if you knocked that bastard off his broom tomorrow just for a little extra fun."

Draco swallowed hard. "I just want to catch the Snitch," he said. "I think I'd better concentrate on that."

"You will," Hermione said, putting the book into her bag. "You're the best Seeker at Hogwarts." Both boys looked at her, mouths agape, and she added defensively, "Well, that's what Ginny says anyway, and you know she goes to as many different team practices as she can sneak into." She stood up. "She said all Zabini has going for him is he's slim and light so he can fly fast but that he's afraid to get dirty and mess up his clothes."

Ginny had actually called the other team's Seeker a 'poncy pretty boy' and added a few choice phrases about his potential proclivities, most of which seemed to involve an assumed affinity for goats, but Hermione edited that down to something a little politer. As much as she disliked Zabini, with the way Tracey Davis fawned on him Hermione doubted he'd ever have to resort to farm animals.

"I'm glad you and Ginny both think I'm a good Seeker," Draco said, ducking his head and studying the tile pattern. It had an abstract, sinuous design done in tiles glazed a dull green that reached out like tentacles from the center of the room toward all the walls, though several tiles had apparently been broken over the years and replaced with plain white ones that interrupted the design and make what had never been attractive downright grotesque.

"I can't wait to see you fly in a game," Hermione said, tucking her free hand in his. "I'll cheer for you the whole time."

"That's be great," Draco said.

"Draco and Hermione, sitting in a tree – " Harry began but both turned on him and chased him from the toilet out into the corridor and back in the direction of their Tower.

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville hesitated for a moment before he began to write in his diary. _I think I've finally got the hang of the new wand, Tom. It's brilliant. I can do all the class assignments and I got so strong trying to force magic out through that other wand that I'm actually better than some people now._

The words swirled away and Neville waited for Tom's response. _You're a very powerful wizard,_ the diary wrote to him. _I could tell that right away. You'll be great, Neville. You've been chosen for great deeds._

 _Then why was I so bad at magic as a child?_ Neville asked. _People thought I was a_ _squib_ _. Even my own family. My gran never says anything without reminding me how great my father was and how I don't measure up. My great-uncle Algie dropped me out a window to try to make me have magic. If I'd been a squib I would have died!_

There was a hesitation and then, with the usual swirl, his unhappy words disappeared and Tom's response appeared. _You aren't a squib. Pay no mind to those cretins. All those people sensed you were going to be something beyond the ordinary and their envy inspired their spite but you do not need to worry about that any longer. I'll take care of you, Neville. I'll help you become more than just a school boy with a functioning wand._ There was a pause. _We'll be great together._

 _We will_ , Neville agreed.

 _Are you still losing time?_ Tom asked.

 _Yes_ , Neville admitted. _And I found red paint under my fingernails the day that sign was painted in the hall. Tom. Tom, am I doing things?_

 _Would it matter? T_ om asked. _If that were the cost of being great?_

Neville closed the diary with a slow motion of his hand. He wanted to be able to write yes, yes of course he'd never write threats on the walls, not even if that was what it took to be a powerful wizard. But all he could hear was his gran saying, "Why can't you be more like your father?" and his uncle laughing about "and then he bounced!"

Being weak, being non-magical, that meant being mocked. That meant not being worthy of love.

He wanted to say yes, he'd never hurt people for power, but he couldn't without lying so he wrote nothing.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Lucius Malfoy followed his wife up the stairs to the parent viewing seats at the Quidditch pitch, her cousin Sirius and whatever Remus was trailing behind him. Narcissa had procured a scarlet, alpaca sweater for him and had wrapped a gold scarf around her own neck. All four of them had noisemakers and tissue shakers to wave and Remus carried the hamper that Narcissa had filled with gourmet sandwiches, fine ales, and crisps. Narcissa was willing to dress in red and gold to support her son's House and Quidditch team, but she was not planning on buying the greasy fish and chips the Hogwarts snack stand inevitably stocked. There were limits and she drew the line at bad food.

Lucius spread a blanket over the worn wooden bench and Narcissa flashed him a smile before she sat down. "Do you remember all the shite we used to pull when James was playing?" Sirius said, caught up in the memories of his own school days. "What little monsters we were." His assessment of their school days included not the slightest hint of regret.

Remus snorted. "I've done my best to forget some of those things. With the perspective of adulthood they fill me with horror."

"Peter and I used to do backflips down the student bleachers," Sirius said. "Once I did them in a kilt sans pants." He'd opted against a kilt for this game and was instead in a disreputable pair of cheap Muggle jeans, worn boots, an old t-shirt advertising some presumably wretched Muggle band and his ubiquitous leather jacket. Narcissa had rolled her eyes at his attire but said nothing.

Lucius snickered at his own school memories. "Some friends and I once turned all the pumpkin juice in the concession stand to whiskey," he confessed. Narcissa covered her mouth with a delicate hand and Sirius looked shocked. "It wasn't good whiskey," Lucius added as though that somehow mitigated his deed. He looked smugly pleased with himself. "Half the school got pissed before anyone realized what we'd done. No one ever found out who did it."

"I heard about that," Remus said. "It was a pretty legendary stunt among younger students."

"You did that?" Sirius was staring at Lucius Malfoy as though he'd never seen the man.

"It's always the ones who seem trustworthy," Narcissa said. "Even my sister thought he was a goody-two-shoes." She reached toward Remus. "Hand me that hamper, Remus. I want a bottle of ale."

Remus passed the basket over, saying, "Poor Peter. Remember how much he loved Quidditch, Sirius? It's too bad he can't be here today. Too bad – "

"Quite," Narcissa said, cutting him off. "All we can do is live in the present, Remus," she said. "All we can do is make sure previous sacrifices were not in vain."

"You," Sirius said, still gaping at Lucius.

"As if the Marauders were the only ones who ever pulled pranks at Hogwarts," Lucius said. "Cunning, Sirius. It doesn't mean just in politics."

Sirius shook his head but stood to allow a woman who had made her way through the stands alone to pass him. She had dark hair that she had teased into a set around her face that begged to be caught in some man's hands and strewn into a state of disarray. Dark slacks were held up by a wide white belt that made her already tiny waist seem even smaller and her blouse was cut low enough to leave very little to the imagination. She'd tied a patterned scarf around her neck and her dark eyes flashed a promise at Sirius as she smiled in a way that showed very white teeth against her light brown skin. He was about to smile back when she passed him without a second glance and sat down on the opposite side of Narcissa.

That promise-laden smile, was, it seemed, something she bestowed on every man without thought. Sirius looked both put out and enchanted.

"Do you have a child at Hogwarts?" Narcissa asked the newcomer politely. It seemed impossible that this creature could have done anything quite so plebeian as given birth.

"Yes," the woman said, her eyes cataloguing Narcissa's practical British tweeds with a practiced air. "I didn't attend Hogwarts myself, of course; I was schooled at home by a governess, but the boy wanted to go to school and now that we're living here in your charming country it seemed like a sweet thing to do."

"Where are you from?" Lucius Malfoy asked, adding before he could stop himself, "Your English is perfect."

The woman smiled. "Italy," she said.

"A beautiful country," Narcissa said. She turned to Lucius, "We haven't been to the Villa in years. Maybe we should take the boys this summer. Ask that Longbottom woman if her little one could join us too."

"She'll just say no," Lucius said.

"I plan to keep asking," Narcissa replied.

Sirius was still trying to catch the Italian woman's eye but she continued to effortlessly avoid his gaze.

"Do you have a son playing today?" the woman asked Narcissa. She'd clearly determined Narcissa's class by the cost of the woman's robes and found her acceptable in a way the apparently vagabond Sirius was not.

"Yes," Narcissa said. "His first game. I played – "

"She was quite a Chaser in her day," Lucius said. "The most beautiful thing on the field, and effortlessly brilliant."

" – and I'm excited to see my baby playing too. They grow up so fast, don't they?"

"They do," the woman said. "Is your son a Chaser too?"

"No," Narcissa said. "He's the Seeker for his team."

The woman looked quite surprised. "Really?" she asked. 'What a coincidence, so is mine." She held her hand out. "Elora Zabini. My son, Blaise, is Seeker for the Slytherin team."

Narcissa took the hand. "Narcissa Malfoy. My son, Draco, is Seeker for Gryffindor." She tipped her head to Lucius. "My husband, Lucius."

Lucius kissed the back of Elora Zabini's hand. "Delighted," he said. He was fairly sure they'd had some contact with the Zabini boy at some point but, as no one would have forgotten this woman, he assumed the child was usually shuttled around by nannies.

Narcissa waved a hand toward Sirius. "My disreputable cousin, Sirius, and his friend Remus."

"His friend?" Elora asked.

"Not like that," Sirius hastened to assure her. He held a hand out, "Sirius Black, at your service."

Elora Zabini's eyelids fluttered only the tiniest bit when she heard the surname Black, but she turned that white smile on Sirius for the first time since she'd passed him. "I don't understand Quidditch that well," she said. "Maybe you can explain it to me?"

Lucius gave Narcissa a look and she hid her snicker behind her bottle of ale.

. . . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - A companion Drabble about the lyre concert is posted on tumblr and I've finally added a board on Pinterest for this fic, including a face cast for Elora._**

 ** _In the world of 'let the reader's decide' let me know which team wins the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match. (I.e. Is the post game snogging session one of congratulations or sympathy with a gloating Zabini who may or may not get hexed by Pansy in these circumstances.)_**


	24. Chapter 24

When the Quidditch game ended with a spectacular dive on Draco's part to snatch a Snitch that had decided to hover mere inches from the ground, Elora Zabini said, her pretty mouth almost caressing the words, "Doesn't this game just scare you?"

Narcissa flicked a look at the woman who was clinging to Sirius' arm like limpet and said, "Oh, Draco's done much worse at home in the back yards. He's a fearless one, our boy." A fearless one, she thought to herself, who just outflew your son. He's faster, trickier, and doesn't hold back. A hint of her smug pride danced across her face before being replaced with a more politic, neutral expression.

Lucius stood and offered Narcissa his arm. "Should we go and congratulate the winner, love?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Narcissa said, "but we mustn't linger. I'm sure he'll want to celebrate with his friends and we'll just be embarrassing and in the way."

After they'd made their way down most of the winding steps Lucius murmured. "It took me a few minutes to realize where I'd heard that woman's name before. Do you think we ought to warn Sirius?"

Narcissa stopped and smiled at her husband. "I had no idea you cared about my cousin's tedious personal life," she said.

"I don't," Lucius admitted. "But I do think you'd object if that scheming harpy got her talons into the Black fortune. She's gone through multiple husbands and while I don't want to make any accusations they all seem to die."

Narcissa patted his arm. "Sirius will never marry," she said quietly. "He may string that woman along. He may pant after like, well, a dog - "

Lucius snorted.

" - but he's not actually led around by his cock, for all that he acts like it half the time. He knows the stakes and he's not going to let himself be distracted from what's coming."

"He's impulsive," Lucius objected.

"His best friends were brutally murdered and he's been raising their orphaned son," Narcissa said. "He's blamed himself for years for those events. If I had died, would you be distracted from Draco, especially knowing all you know, by a pretty face?"

Lucius pushed himself up onto his toes so, despite being below his wife on the stairs, he could brush his lips against the cheek she leaned down for him. "Never," he said. "But I've also never been impulsive."

Narcissa suddenly dimpled. "I can think of multiple occasions where you've been _quite_ impulsive," she said. He laughed and grinned back at her. "Let's go humiliate our son by congratulating him in front of his friends," she said, "And then go home and be… impulsive."

When they reached the ground and found Draco he was surrounded by his teammates, all of whom were hooting and giving one another high fives. He had his arm slung around Hermione with a proprietary air that amused Narcissa and the young witch was leaning against him. "I hope you don't plan to use the spell work I sent you anytime soon," Narcissa murmured into his ear as she brushed her lips over his cheek.

Draco turned bright red and, reassured, she laughed. "Congratulations are due, I think," she said. "An excellent catch but a well-played game all around." She looked at Angelina, Alica, and Katie. "A pleasure to see an all-woman Chaser group," she said. "You're all remarkable athletes and were a delight to watch." She smiled at Draco. "I do think even if the other team had caught the Snitch you'd have won anyway thanks to these three."

Angelina grinned. "Thanks Mrs. Malfoy," she said.

"I'd have thought you'd be rooting for Slytherin," Alicia said. "Didn't you play for them?"

"Ah, well," Narcissa smiled again. "I admit I did hope to see them do a tad better than they managed. Maybe if they had more girls on the team they wouldn't be having such a bad year."

The trio of Chasers all smirked at one another. "Tell that to them," Katie suggested.

"Or _don't_ ," Oliver Wood said in what sounded like a panic. "I don't want to see them get any better!"

"My lips are sealed," Narcissa promised him and the boy nearly sagged with relief.

Narcissa and Lucius congratulated the team one more time and stepped away to chat briefly with Madam Hooch, who seemed pleased to see them both and made predictable but nonetheless pleasant observations about Draco's flying skill and love of the game. Just as they were turning to leave they stopped to observe the Slytherin Seeker come up, waving his broom in Draco's face. Neither adult could hear what he said but whatever it was was presumably offensive as Draco had to be restrained from going after the other boy.

"Weren't they friends as children," Lucius asked Narcissa as the Weasley twins held their son back. "That _is_ Blaise Zabini, right?"

"I wouldn't have called them friends," Narcissa said, "but they attended a number of the same classes and social functions and seemed to be able to interact without violence."

"Hmm," Lucius said. "I wonder what happened."

Narcissa shrugged. "You know how Dumbledore likes to play up the House rivalry," she said. "It's probably nothing more than that, plus being a sore loser."

"He could stand to take some lessons on behavior from his mother," Lucius said, turning once again to leave. "Kids these days lack any sense of subtlety. At least Harry and Draco have an excuse for being outrageous hooligans."

"Gryffindors?" Narcissa asked.

"Exactly. I'd expect more from a Slytherin than yelling insults in a rival's face," Lucius said with disgust.

"Or hexing someone annoying?" Narcissa asked, still watching the altercation.

"Oh, Merlin," Lucius swore. "Did Draco just hex that brat? Are we going to have to go up and interact with that interfering Headmaster?"

"No," Narcissa reassured him. "Little Pansy Parkinson seems to have made the brat, as you called him, vomit slugs."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I can't believe she hexed him," Hermione said around the clumsy kisses Draco was planting on her mouth.

He'd showered, tucked the Snitch away in a pocket to keep, and they'd both slipped out of the raucous party in the Common Room. Someone had brought in punch and multiple bottles of whiskey and both Draco and Hermione had been wary of the results. Harry had been less so and they'd left him explaining to Ron Weasley how Sirius had been a notorious prankster in his day and had done many things - many, many things - that were far worse than spiking the punch and he was sure it was fine - fine - and you should have another drink, Ron.

Draco made a frustrated sound. Hermione wouldn't stop _talking_ and all he wanted to do was explore this kissing thing in more detail, and maybe get to slip a hand under her jumper. "He deserved it," Draco muttered. "He called me a blood traitor, Hermione. That's… that's really rude."

"It's because we're - "

"It's because he's got shite for brains," Draco said, giving up and leaning back. He'd brought her out from the party and down to an unused classroom, telling her the windows had a pretty view of the lake. They did, but as she'd just sat down in the dusty window seat and given the lake the same cursory glance he had he'd had thought she was as happy with the fiction as he was and ready to move on to the snogging part of the evening. Instead she wanted to talk about Pansy and the girl's slug hex. It _had_ been pretty funny, Draco had to admit. Blaise had spewed forth his insults and Pansy had stormed up behind him and told him that he was embarrassing Slytherin and if he wanted gross things to come out of his mouth she could arrange that.

And she had.

He had to get her to teach him that spell; it was kind of brilliant.

"You don't go around calling people blood traitors unless you want to get it," Draco said.

"Theo did," Hermione said. "When we first met."

Draco groaned. "Fine, you don't go around calling a _Malfoy_ a blood traitor," he said. "If he called Weasley that people might think it was rude and crass but they wouldn't… my family is _important_ , Hermione. I don't want to be the kind of jerk who goes on and on about it - Sirius would have my head if he found out I was being like that - but it's true. The Malfoys, the Notts, the Parkinsons… there's a bloody book listing all of us."

"There's a wizarding peerage?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening. Her own mother had a copy of _Burke's Peerage_ and an embarrassing royal watching habit. They had plates commemorating Princess Diana's wedding hanging in the breakfast room.

"Kind of," Draco muttered. "But it's not like there's a queen or anything, much as Sirius' mother apparently thought she was as good as.

"And you're _in it_?" Hermione asked.

"I am," Draco muttered, wondering how he could possibly make this conversation go away. "Weasley is, technically, though they're so poor no one cares. Pansy is. Theo is. Zabini's little goons are, but he's not."

"I'm not sure I'd call those two 'little'," Hermione said.

Draco laughed. "Yeah, guess not," he said.

"Wow," Hermione said.

"You still want to be with me, right?" Draco asked, feeling nervous that she'd be scared off by the news that his family wasn't just rich but also socially important; he had a feeling normal people might be put off by that and all the stress that came with it. "Even thought I'm in that stupid book, right?"

"As long as no one's hanging plates of you in their house, we're good," Hermione said, almost under her breath. "That might be too weird for me."

"What?" Draco asked, totally confused.

"Never mind," Hermione said. She leaned back toward him and pressed her lips up against his and, though he was still perplexed by what plates had to do with anything, Draco decided to not pursue that and instead return his attention to letting the witch congratulate him on catching the Snitch.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ron's familiar, the much ignored rat Scabbers, picked itself up and lumbered, mangy and unattractive, in the direction of the food dish Ron held out to the rodent.

"How is that thing still alive?" Draco asked. He was seated cross legged on his own bed with a book open in front of him, quill in hand, and face screwed up against the endlessly unpleasant chore of homework. Every professor seemed to think they were shirking their duty if they didn't assign multiple hours per week and none of them were inclined to listen to pleas that their class wasn't the only one. Between his classes and Oliver Wood's intensive Quidditch practice schedule, Draco sometimes felt like he never even got time to sleep. He certainly wasn't getting enough time to spend with Harry and Hermione. He eyed the rat grouchily as Ron picked it up and set both it and the food dish on the floor. "I mean, really, Ron, it looks like it's going to die any day now."

"It's looked that way since last year," Neville muttered.

Ron sighed. "I know," he said, "But what am I supposed to do? We can't even afford a new wand, much less a familiar." The 'we aren't all rich you know' hung unspoken in the air. He gave Draco a pointed look. "You don't even have a familiar."

Draco shrugged. "If I can't have an otter I'll go without," he said airily.

"Snot," Ron said.

Harry snorted from his own bed. "Don't listen to him, Ron," he advised. "He wanted a kitten but his parents told him he wasn't responsible enough to look after a pet and that it would just end up running away and contributing to the Hogwarts stray cat problem."

Draco glared at Harry who snickered before all four boys sighed and returned to their books and their stupid, endless, annoying homework.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor of the neglected and out-of-order girls' toilet and added the last ingredient to the Polyjuice. "Well," she said, "Now it just has to brew for a month and then we add the, uh, you know."

Harry, Draco, and Hermione all looked at one another with screwed up grimaces on their faces. "Toenails," Draco said in a tone of doom.

"Or hair," Hermione said. "it would probably be easier to pluck a hair off their robes."

"I do have the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said. "I can sneak up on them and just -"

"Still gross," Draco opined.

"Not as gross as toenails," Hermione said. "Did you know according to Norse mythology, during the battle at the end of the world the creatures who show up to fight against the gods arrive on a boat made up of toenails?"

"How do you know these things?" Harry demanded. "And that's disgusting."

"I read," Hermione said. "You should try it sometime."

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy grabbed Harry by the hand at lunch as Blaise Zabini and his henchmen looked on with scowls. "Come with me for a walk?" she asked, if what was clearly a demand could be termed a question. No fool, Harry nodded mutely and stood up, clambered out from the bench at the Gryffindor table - why they couldn't have individual chairs he had no idea - and let the girl lead him from the hall. She giggled when they were clear of the room. "Did you see Zabini's face?" she asked. "He looked like he was going to have a fit on the spot."

Harry smirked down at her. "I bet we could make him go into actual convulsions if he saw us kissing?" he suggested but Pansy rolled her eyes and hit him on the arm.

"Not in the halls," she said. "Let's go down to the lake. I have some time before my next class."

Not one to argue with what seemed to be a wholly agreeable suggestion, Harry trailed after her. The day probably would have gone along in quite delightful ways if it hadn't been for the body they stumbled on in the hall. Harry looked down at the first year Gryffindor, a boy he barely knew, with horror while Pansy shrieked. The boy was as stiff as Filch's cat had been, a camera clutched in his rigid fingers. Pansy's loud, hysterical screams brought adults running; Professor Minerva McGonagall was the first to reach them, pushing her way out the door from the Dining Hall and striding toward them with vigor that made her seem dangerously acute.

"What's this?" she demanded.

"We…. we found him," Pansy blubbered. "We were going for a walk - "

"He was just like this," Harry choked out. "We didn't - "

"Of course you didn't," Professor McGonagall said. She turned to Headmaster Dumbledore, who'd come up behind her, and said, "Petrified. Again."

The man reached down and pried the back off the boy's camera. The film inside was melted and smoking.

"What does it mean?" Pansy asked. She turned away from the frozen boy and his camera and had her face buried into Harry's shoulder so the words came out muffled and nearly indistinguishable. Harry patted her awkwardly as Dumbledore answered her anyway.

"It means the Chamber of Secrets has been opened," he said. "Salazar Slytherin's monster has been loosed."

. . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Hermione is not making that up about the toenail boat. It's name is Naglfar. Thank you all for your wonderful and amazing reviews. I remain grateful and astonished that this has been as well received as it has._**


	25. Chapter 25 (Dueling Club)

Student response to the news that the little Muggle-born Gryffindor had been attacked was one of delighted fear. An underground trade in protective amulets sprang up and girls began wearing ridiculous combinations of herbs, rocks - and once a potato - as fashion statements. Muggle-borns might have felt actual fear, and most took to pairing off and didn't walk the halls alone, but half-bloods and purebloods seemed to enjoy scaring one another and told increasingly outrageous stories of what the monster could be.

An inferi-werewolf-vampire combination was the most popular, if impossible, monster in whispered stories.

"That doesn't even make sense," Hermione protested as Draco walked her to their next class. He'd taken to refusing to let her go alone and most of the time Harry joined them. "How would a vampire become a werewolf?"

"You could ask Professor Lockhart?" Harry suggested with a sly grin. "I'm sure he's been there while it happened before and used his incredible knowledge of all magic to turn the werewolf _and_ the vampire into swans."

"Very funny," Hermione muttered. "Besides, you have to burn inferi, don't you?"

Harry shrugged with indifference. "Roasted swan?" he suggested.

"Speaking of Lockhart," Draco said, "Did you hear about the Dueling Club?"

Hermione stopped walking and said, "He's going to do what?"

Draco tugged her forward. "We're going to be late," he said. "It's to teach us all to defend ourselves against - "

"Against inferi-werewold-vampires?" Hermione asked. "I think if there's a monster freezing students it's probably using magic a little more advanced than a 12-year-old can do."

Harry gave her a shove. "It'll be fun anyway," he said. "A chance to send hexes at people and not get in trouble for it. Don't tell me that doesn't seem awesome." He grinned at Draco. "I say we team up and get that Zacharias Smith. He'd be awfully pretty with giant teeth."

"Or horns," Draco suggested.

Hermione groaned. "You two need to leave that boy alone," she ordered.

"He's a git," Harry said.

"A prat," Draco agreed.

"He once called me a spoiled, trouble-making brat," Harry added.

"You are," Hermione said as they reached their classroom.

"Doesn't mean he gets to say it," Harry said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville frowned at his diary. _I'm going to the Dueling Club_ , he wrote. _I hope it's good._

The diary wrote back. _Just be careful you don't let them see what you can do. Don't do anything a normal second-year student wouldn't do._

 _I won't Tom._ Neville wrote. _I just want to learn how to defend against this monster everyone's talking about. I don't believe it's only going to go after Muggle-borns. How could a monster know that?_

His words disappeared and in their place he saw, _I don't think you need to worry about the monster._

"Are you coming, Neville?" Ron yelled from outside their room. "Stop writing in that journal like some stupid girl and get your wand and let's go." There was a muffled mutter as Ron said something to someone in the common room and then he yelled to Neville again. "Merlin, Nev, we all know you're practically a squib. No one's going to expect you to do anything but you can't keep hiding away like this. It's weird."

Neville tensed, his shoulders going up and his fingers tightening on the quill in his hand. Tom Riddle's words disappeared and there was a moment where the ink seemed to swirl about in a rage and then the page went blank. Neville closed the journal and put it away and went to join the other boys.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry's smile faltered a bit when he saw Professor Snape looming from the corner of the room that had been set up for the Dueling Club. Lockhart was a joke, a buffoon, and an idiot, but Professor Snape seemed to hate him. He sneered at Harry, took points off perfectly good potions, took any excuse to find fault with him. Draco noticed the way Harry's steps slowed at the sight of the Potions master and muttered, "I just hate that guy, the way he talks to you."

Hermione was behind them and she made a grumpy sound of agreement as she pushed them into the room. "You're blocking the door," she said and they let her steer them to the assembled Gryffindors. Neville, Ron, Dean and Seamus had gotten there before them and Harry shrugged, tried to dismiss the Potions professor from his mind and grinned at Neville. "Haven't see you around much, Nev," he said. "You find some girl to snog in dark corners or something?"

Neville turned red and muttered, "No," to a round of knowing snickers.

"Leave him alone," Hermione ordered. "Just because you and Pansy are gross doesn't mean he's got some big secret he's hiding. Some people just don't feel the need for constant applause, Harry!"

"Sorry, Nev," Harry said, looking only slightly abashed.

Neville flashed him a wan smile. "It's okay, Harry," he said. "Girls don't really go for me."

"It's the squib thing," Ron said, "and the way you constantly mess up in things like Potions."

"He's not a squib, Ron," Hermione rounded on the other boy, "and Professor Snape makes people nervous because he hovers."

"You've got competition, Draco," Ron smirked. "I think your girlfriend's got a thing for Nevvy here."

"Sod off," Hermione muttered and turned away to face the stage as Lockhart, his lilac cape billowing behind him, climbed onto the raised dais that had been erected in the center of the room and began talking at length about his prowess as a dueler. Harry nudged Hermione and, when he had her attention, mimed yawning. She hit him in the arm but not very hard and he could see her trying to hide a smile so he did it again. By the time Lockhart had finished his introduction and added that Professor Snape and agreed to assist him Harry wasn't the only one whose attention had wandered but the prospect of the two professors dueling refixed every student eye to the stage.

The duel was underwhelming.

Professor Lockhart posed with his arm extended, capelet staged just so, so that Harry almost expected the wind to com up and ruffle the man's perfect curls. Professor Snape eyed the other man with the most scathing expression Harry had ever seen on the man's face - and Harry was quite well acquainted with the variety of expressions of disgust, dismissal, and general disdain that Snape could muster - and, pointing his wand, said only, " _Expelliarmus."_

Professor Lockhart's wand flew from his fingers and Professor Snape reached into the air to grab it.

"Well," Professor Lockhart blustered, "I mean, of course, that's - "

Professor Snape cut him off. "Please pair off," the man sneered, "and we shall begin."

If Harry didn't know Pansy was much too young to apprarate he'd have sworn that was how she got to his side that quickly. Hermione paired off with Neville before anyone else could ask her and, predictably, Blaise Zabini sauntered over to Draco. "Want to take me on, little blood traitor?" the boy sneered.

Harry sighed but left Draco to his own devices. He was pretty sure his best friend could look after himself and, after what he'd seen Pansy do with the slugs, he needed to pay attention to what she threw at him lest she come up with something equally vile.

Blaise Zabini laughed as he and Draco paired off next to Hermione and Neville. "A near-squib, a Mud…Muggle-born," he ostentatiously corrected himself, smirking as he did so, "and a blood traitor. I feel kind of dirty just standing over here."

"You could go soak your head?" Hermione suggested as she bowed to Neville and he to her. They began sending jelly-leg and leg locking jinxes at one another, blocking them with inefficient spells, neither really wanting to hurt the other. Zabini watched them for a moment and sneered at their spell choices before he turned to Draco and, without so much as a courtesy bow, called out, " _Serpensortia._ "

A cobra launched itself from the tip of the boy's wand and coiled on the floor, its head lifted as it looked around. It began to slither toward Hermione and, as she took a nervous step back, Neville stepped in front of her, placing himself between her and the snake. He pointed his wand at the animal.

Zabini began to laugh. "What do you think you're going to do to it, Longbottom?" he jeered. "Tickle it to death?"

Neville took a deep breath and opened his mouth but before he could speak Harry had his own wand pointed at the snake. " _Vipera Evanesca,"_ Harry said, sounding desperate, and the snake vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Professor Snape swept over to them. "Five points from Gryffindor for interfering in another pair's dueling," he said.

Hermione stared at the professor, mouth agape. "But," she stammered out, "that snake, it was going to - "

"It was not a part of your duel, Miss Granger. Five more points for your lack of respect and argumentativeness."

"But," she said again and then, eyeing his expression, clamped her mouth shut.

Draco, glaring at Zabini, hurried over to her side, as did Harry. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded shakily.

"Poor little Muggle-born," Zabini mocked. "Scared of a little snake?"

Neville put an arm around Hermione and said, his voice low, "None of us are scared of snakes, Zabini."

"Wait until my father hears about this," Draco said, advancing back toward Zabini. "Ready for round two?"

"Hit me," Zabini challenged.

Draco launched a hex at the other boy that knocked his legs out from under him, then tried the same spell Professor Snape had used earlier to snatch the boy's wand. With Zabini's wand in one hand and his own leveled at the boy where he was sprawled on the ground, Draco said, "Yield." It wasn't a question.

"Fine," Zabini spat out at him. "I yield."

Harry turned his back on the watching professors, one in lilac and one in black, and said to Pansy, "This is stupid. Do you want to go down to the lake?"

"Yeah," she said. She tossed her hair and the pair of them walked to the door where Harry stopped and looked back at Draco, Neville, and Hermione

"Well," he demanded, "Are you three coming or not?"

Draco looked like he wanted to kick Zabini but he turned and said, "I'm coming. This is lame."

Hermione grabbed Neville by the hand and dragged him behind her and the five children left the Dueling Club.

. . . . . . . . . .

It was cold and frozen out and the five children were soon packing snowballs and tossing them at one another, the idea of heading all the way to the lake forgotten. Hermione shrieked as Draco shoved a handful of snow down the back of her collar and pushed the boy into a bank of snow that had been created when someone had used magic to clear the walks. "You brat," he snarled in mock outrage and pretended he was going to grab her and throw her into the snow pile.

"Your father going to hear about it?" teased Harry.

"Hah," said Pansy. "Your father, more like."

"My father's dead," Harry stopped, a half-packed snowball in his hand.

"You know who I mean," Pansy said impatiently. " _Sirius._ "

Harry relaxed. "Yeah," he said. "Sirius is pretty great."

Neville brushed some snow off his face. "Do you think he'd ever, you know, get married or anything. Get you a mum?"

"I have a mum," Harry said. "Draco's mum is mine too."

Hermione tucked an arm around Harry, only half-using him as a shield from Draco. "Still," she said. "People do get married."

"Never," Harry said. He rubbed at his eyes with a mittened hand. "I can't imagine life without Sirius and Remus just being… Sirius and Remus," he said. "They're like the best fathers you could want." He shrugged off Hermione's arm, sat down on a rock and admitted, "Sometimes I feel guilty about feeling like that, like I'm betraying my real parents."

Neville sat down next to him. "I wish I had a Sirius," he said. "I love my gran, but …." He poked at Harry. "I don't think your dad would mind," he said. "Weren't they best friends?"

"Like brothers," Harry said.

"Yeah," Neville said. "I don't think your dad would mind. I think he'd be happy for you. I mean, better that than being with some relative who thinks you're some failure."

"You aren't a failure!" Hermione shoved Neville and he looked up at her, surprised at the fierceness in her voice. "You aren't," she said again. "You're brave and smart and I saw you about to go after Zabini's stupid snake." She sounded like she was about to cry. "Never call yourself a failure. Not ever."

"You guys are my best friends," Neville said.

"I'm not," Pansy said. "I think you're a bit of a dork."

Draco shoved her and she muttered, "What? I was just kidding. Merlin." But she broke the tension of too many people talking about things that mattered too much and they all laughed, uneasy and grateful to be done sharing quite so many things, and when Pansy ground a handful of snow into Draco's face the snowball fight began again with as much laughter as before and maybe somewhat tighter bonds.

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Another week, another chapter of Like Brothers. Your words are balm to my tattered soul, which I've split and keep a portion of in an old necklace. You know, just in case._**


	26. Chapter 26

Neville excused himself first, saying he was tired and wanted to go lie down. Hermione gave him a hug and told him to be careful, who knew what was in the halls, and he laughed and shrugged her off. "I'm just going to go take a nap," he said. "I doubt the inferi-whatever will find me in our room."

"Ron's awful rat might," Draco muttered. "I swear, that thing gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Trust Ron Weasley to have a rat," Pansy said with a sniff and they all waved at Neville as he went back inside and returned to flinging snow at one another until their fingers were so numb even warming charms were of no use and, laughing, Hermione begged them all to go in so she could stop shivering. Draco stripped her gloves off her hands and took her fingers in his, blowing on them, and Harry draped an arm around Pansy and whispered to her that they could ditch Draco and Hermione and find an empty room. She smirked at him as they pushed their way back into the castle.

The four of them found Ron Weasley lying petrified in the hall when they came in, the peculiar sight of an equally frozen ghost hovering in the air over the body adding an unnecessary extra dash of macabre to the scene. Hermione let out a yelp and Pansy a scream and all four children stood over the body as though they were stuck in pitch and unable to move.

"It could have been Neville," Hermione said with horror as she stared at Ron. "We let him come in alone. I mean, Ron's bad, of course, very bad, but we let Neville come in alone and if it had been him it would have been all our fault."

Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could as people came running at the sound of Pansy's scream. Professor McGonagall came striding around a corner, never doing anything quite so undignified as running but moving at a steady and rapid pace nevertheless, and her face settled into a grim frown when she saw the body.

"It was them." Ernie Macmillan said, pointing at Harry and Pansy. "They found Colin too! And the cat! They're working together to kill off students! They aren't just after Muggle-borns! They're after everyone!"

"Don't be an arse," Draco said, rounding on the boy.

"That will be enough, Mr. Macmillan," Professor McGonagall said with disgust. "Despite whatever hysterical gibberish you might be concocting in your insufficiently logical mind, neither Mr. Potter nor Miss Parkinson are talented enough at magic to have done this."

Pansy lifted her face from Harry's shoulder, looking as though she thought she had been insulted and was of a mind to say something about how she was too talented enough at magic to attack people before she thought better of it and, with a sniffle, returned her nose to Harry's winter cloak.

"I didn't… we didn't…" Harry began.

"Of course you did not," Professor McGonagall said. "Do not be absurd. You are a child and this is not the work of a child." Within a few minutes she had organized the onlookers, directing several to carry Ron Weasley's body to the infirmary where it would join Colin Creevey as they waited for the compounded potion to be ready. She had several students fan the body of the ghost up the stairs and into an unused classroom where it could wait for revival, and she dispersed the remaining students to their common rooms. She eyed Draco and Hermione until they squirmed and said at last, "Do try to be careful. You lot are developing an unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Draco held Hermione's hand tightly and said, his chin raised, "I'll keep her safe, no matter what."

Professor McGonagall's mien softened. "I have no doubt of that, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "No doubt at all."

. . . . . . . . . .

Molly Weasley had sent seven children to Hogwarts as well as going there herself. She knew it wasn't a safe school. Staircases moved. The forest was filled with giant spiders. That whomping willow. She was also an honest enough woman to know that some of her children - mainly the twins though Charlie had been no angel - didn't wait for mischief to find them but sought it out and so she had, over the years, become unfazed by most things children could do or notes the school could - and did - send home about those doings.

 _We regret to inform you that your child has broken a leg trying to jump from one broom to another mid-Quidditch game_ was met with a sigh.

 _I am sorry to have to write and tell you that your son claims to have been hit with a memory curse rendering him unable to take exam_ s merely had her write back with the suggestion they spoon something unpleasant down his throat every hour until he magically, inevitably, was cured.

 _Unfortunately, your child had been petrified by an unknown monster, is the second victim (third if you count the cat) and we have neither informed parents nor implemented any effective security measures_ , however, had her reaching for the red stationary.

"Albus Dumbledore," she wrote with a hand that allowed no hesitation, "Have you lost your mind? In all my experience with your admittedly lax school policies - and don't think I've forgotten about the incident with Charlie and the dragon his third year and I still think 'boys will be boys' is _not_ an acceptable response to second degree burns - this is the most egregious bit of nonsense I have ever, ever seen from you. I am appalled. I am disgusted. I am going to write to the Board of Governors. Ronald shares a room with Lucius Malfoy's son and I am quite sure he will not be pleased to discover that you have put all the students at risk with your refusal to even acknowledge there is a problem. You can't just suck on candy and wait for things to solve themselves no matter how much you may want to! I expect daily updates on my son's condition. I expect a plan in place to protect the students. I expect you to share that plan with the parents of your students. I expect you to find that monster and get rid of it! What's the point of being the most heralded wizard of your generation if you can't even find a monster in your own school that is petrifying your own students!"

She sat back and re-read the Howler before adding one more thing.

"P.S. Give Aberforth my love."

With that done and sent to the school she made a face and a sniffing sound as she pulled out some regular stationary and began the far less pleasant task of writing to Lucius Malfoy. She'd never quite believed he'd been Imperiused during the War; some people, in her opinion, were not good people and didn't need to be cursed to take up with Dark wizards. She'd asked Ron about the boy, worried her child was rooming with a budding Death Eater, but Ron had said with a shrug that Draco was nice enough but he was better friends with Seamus and Dean and did she know that Seamus knew all sorts of things about Muggle explosives?

With the wisdom borne of raising Fred and George, Molly had not pursued that conversation any further.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," she began.

. . . . . . . . . .

Lucius handed Molly Weasley's note to Narcissa and she took it with just the tips of her fingers, wrinkling her nose a bit. She did not care for the Weasley clan. Her fastidiousness, however, lasted only as long as it took her to read the missive at which point she set it down, looked at Lucius, and uttered the crudest obscenity he'd ever heard come from her aristocratic lips.

"Do you think?" he asked, dancing around the issue.

"I do," she said. "It was always a rumor, of course, but - "

"If people are getting petrified - "

"Basilisk." They looked at one another. "Our _son_ is at that school," Narcissa said. "Our _only_ son." She took a deep breath. "You know that Harry's a Parselmouth, don't you?"

Lucius frowned. "You've been keeping secrets," he said.

"The boy asked Sirius if it meant he was evil," Narcissa said. "Sirius reassured him but talked to me too."

Lucius rubbed at his forehead. "I hate to use a a child to catch a monster," he said.

"Do you have a better idea?" Narcissa demanded. "Obviously we don't just leave him in a room going 'here, kitty kitty' in snake. We arrange a group of carefully selected witches and wizards to take the thing down once he's summoned it." She exhaled. "Severus, for example."

"You hate Snape," Lucius objected.

"He's talented," she said. "And he can break the thing down into component parts safely and bottle them all up for that nasty lab of his." She frowned. "Nott too. It'll make him think we're still… you know."

Lucius reached out a hand to brush a strand of his wife's hair away from her cheek. "I love you very much," he said. "And sometimes your agile mind frightens me. Only you would plot to kill a dangerous monster while still playing a round of even more deadly politics, balancing Death Eaters and Order Members and keeping them all happy."

"He will return," she said. "Whether we want him to or not. And Harry Potter is the weapon that will slit his throat."

"Horcruxes." Lucius said the word with utter distaste. He was not squeamish about magic considered by the Ministry to be Dark - far from it - but some things were beyond the pale. Some things you simply didn't do. Ever. You might read about them. You might research them. You didn't do them.

"We burned the diary last summer," Narcissa reassured him. "One down, six to go."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Fuck, no. No way in fucking hell. No." Sirius looked around the room at his cousin, seated with her knees pressed together, her flawless hair coiffed, and the worst idea he'd ever heard on her lips. Professor McGonagall stood near the door, her hands twisting in a display of nerves he'd never seen from her. Headmaster Dumbledore twinkled from his seat.

"I see your language usage remains as stunted as ever," Snape sneered from where he leaned against the wall.

"Fuck you, Snivellus," Sirius said without turning around to face the man. "You're all talking about using a 12-year-old boy to set a trap for a basilisk. What the fucking fuck is wrong with you people?" He looked at Narcissa. "Would you use Draco this way?" he demanded.

She looked down at her designer shoes and didn't speak.

"Exactly," Sirius spit out. "But you think my boy, _James'_ boy, _Lily's_ boy can be offered up on the alter of expediency and I say no fucking way."

"Have you considered asking the boy?" Dumbledore said from where he sat. "He might want to help." His voice was warm and reasonable and no effect on Sirius whatsoever.

"Hell no!" he said. "I'll ask him if he wants to skive off school to go to a Quidditch match and I'll ask him if he wants to get the blue pants or the black pants but I'm not asking a bloody kid if he wants to face down a monster. You'll make it sound like it's the only way to save his friends from - "

"It might be!" Narcissa interrupted him, her words cutting through his tirade. "No one plans to just shove him at the thing Sirius, be reasonable. We have him talk to it, find out where it is, track it down, and kill it. We kill it. The adults. The fully trained wizards and witches, working together. Molly's offered to have Charlie come down from Romania; apparently there's enough similarities between dragons and basilisks that his expertise is - "

"Ya could jus' get a rooster?" Sirius spun at that and looked at the hulking man, clearly part giant, hunched in a corner of the room.

"A rooster?" Snape said, disdain dripping from every feature.

McGonagall, however, was smiling. "We'd still have to track the thing down," she said, "But, Hagrid, I could kiss you. That's the perfect solution."

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"Th' call of the rooster," Hagrid said, looking embarrassed to have so much attention focused on him. "A basilisk canna live when it hears it." He scuffled his feet. "Someone killed 'em all this year. Thought it was a fox or somethin'. Maybe not."

"So we use Potter to summon the basilisk to a room filled with roosters and stand ready in case they don't work," McGonagall said.

"Excuse me," Sirius said. "We do not 'use Potter' at all. I think, as his parental figure, I've already given my opinion of that and it was 'fuck no, permission not fucking granted'."

"Coward, puppy?" Snape asked. "Isn't playing with monsters the kind of thing his daddy liked? He'd be so disappointed in you."

Sirius finally turned to glower at the man, half rising out of his seat in an obvious plan to move the confrontation to the physical.

"You aren't helping," Narcissa hissed at Snape. She leaned over and touched Sirius on the knee. "Please, Sirius. Draco is in this school and I'm terrified something will happen to him. You know I would do anything - anything at all - to keep the boys safe. You know I've dedicated my life to that."

Sirius looked at her.

"Anything," she said, her voice low but clear in the room as everyone held their breath. "I would never suggest it if I thought Harry would be in any danger. He's nearly my son too. You know that."

"You will be right there," Sirius said, his eyes never moving from Narcissa Malfoy's face. " _I_ will be right there."

"And a small army of carefully selected witches and wizards, all with their wands leveled at the beast," she said. "Harry will never be in danger. Never. All he has to do is use the magic he has to call the thing and then we'll all take care of it."

"Fine." Sirius stood up. "Call me when it's time. I don't want to see you fucking arseholes - yourself excluded, Cissa - until then."


	27. Chapter 27

Killing a basilisk turned out to be tedious and anti-climactic. The Hogwarts staff located a room connected to the piping system, pried an access panel loose, and Hagrid brought in multiple cages of roosters, none of whom were especially happy about their close confinement and all of whom were vocal about it until Lucius Malfoy, with a look of distaste, threw heavy black drapes over them. Students had been sent to their common rooms with strict orders to remain locked away as well as staff members positioned at the entrances to make sure no would-be-clever troublemakers decided to come sneaking out to have a peek at the evenings adventure.

Draco had expressed his disappointment at being left out of the 'fun' at such length and in such detail that Hermione had started throwing things at him and, when that didn't make him stop, she stomped off to her room and told him she hoped he'd be less idiotic by morning.

"Hope springs eternal," Neville called after her. She might have made a rude gesture back at the boys and they might have laughed.

Professor McGonagall, flanked by a simmering Sirius Black and a much calmed Narcissa Malfoy, escorted Harry to the room they'd chosen. It was filled with grim-faced wizards and witches ranging his young cousin Tonks to a man he recognized as Theo's father.

Thoros Nott leveled an inscrutable look at Harry and then turned to Professor McGonagall. "Are we ready?" he asked.

"Harry?" McGonagall asked.

He nodded. All around him the adults arranged themselves in a careful line, slipped blindfolds over their eyes, and pointed their wands at the hole in wall. McGonagall tied one around him and turned so her back was to the opening. Hagrid also faced away, his hands ready to pull the coverings off the cages as soon as the monster appeared.

Harry swallow hard and then said, "Where are you? I have food for you?" in Parseltoungue.

It took only minutes. The monster heard his hissing and, drawn by the promise of food, slithered partially out of the hole. Hagrid yanked the coverings away and kicked at the cages of roosters who, angry at the disturbance, let out a great series of caws and screeches and cries.

Not a single curse was fired.

"Is it safe?" someone asked. McGonagall turned and regarded the body of the creature even as Harry tugged his blindfold down.

"It's dead," she said. Her voice took on what sounded like disgust and she had to speak loudly to be heard over the screeching roosters. "It's leaking something onto the floor."

The adults all removed their eye protection and stared at the dead basilisk. It was indeed leaking some kind of viscous fluid; many people took an involuntary step away from the creature but Narcissa pulled out a sharp knife and began removing a fang with brisk efficiency.

"What do you think you're doing?" Severus Snape demanded, a sneer in his voice. "I think that's school property."

"Fuck you," Sirius snapped.

Narcissa ignored them both and just dropped the severed fang into a glass jar Lucius held out for her. "Done?" she asked McGonagall.

"Thank Godric, yes," the woman said. "I'll take Mr. Potter back to his dorm."

Harry gave Sirius a tight hug, shakier than he'd like to admit now that he saw the giant monster lying dead, half out of the wall. "You're a brave kid," Sirius whispered in his ear. "Just like your father was. He'd have been so proud of you tonight."

"Thanks," Harry said, squeezing Sirius even more tightly.

McGonagall gestured toward the door. "Mr. Potter," she said in an expectant tone. He reluctantly let of Sirius and proceeded his Head of House out into the corridor, leaving the mess behind for the adults to handle.

"It's all better now, right?" he asked her. "That's it, right?"

"That's it, Mr. Potter," she reassured him. "There's nothing more to worry about."

Back in the classroom with the dead basilisk Alastor Moody, Auror and paranoid, nudged at the body with his booted foot. "Well," he said, "this thing won't be freezing any more students, but the real question is who was controlling it to begin with. Harry?"

"Not Harry," Sirius snapped.

"No one was controlling it, Alastor," Snape said in disgust. "It found a way out of wherever it was living through rotted pipes, thats all. Not everything is some vast conspiracy and not every rock has a Dark wizard hiding under it."

"Yes, well, you would say that," Moody said, glowering at Snape. He glanced over at Hagrid, who had started sniveling. "What in the bloody hell is your problem?"

"He jus' wanted to eat, like ev'ry other snaky," Hagrid said. "I's not 'is fault he was so big and.. and - "

"Oh for the love of…" Alastor exclaimed. "I'm going home."

. . . . . . . . . .

The school year drew to its inevitable end. Molly Weasley came to school every day and sat by Ron's bedside until the mandrakes were mature, the potion was brewed, and he woke. She cornered Dumbledore, who had taken to avoiding her, and informed him that he would be providing tutoring over the summer for the petrified students. "It is your fault that this happened," she said, wagging a finger in his face. "I am well aware this institution hardly provides what any reasonable person would call a safe learning environment but a basilisk is quite beyond the ordinary and you will ensure their education does not suffer."

"I have to go to summer school," Ron complained as they packed up their things and sat around the common room waiting for the final feast of the year and the train ride home. "I don't know why my mum couldn't have just left well enough alone. So much for my holiday. You'll all be having fun and I'll be bent down over textbooks. Snape is going to do it _Snape._ It's like I'm being punished for getting attacked."

"You missed almost half the year," Hermione pointed out. "How do you think you'd be able to manage next year if you didn't make the work up?"

"'snot fair," Ron muttered.

"Rough luck about Snape," Harry said. "Maybe he'll be better as a tutor?"

Draco snorted. "He's only doing it because he's dead broke. It's not like he likes teaching."

"Or students," Hermione added.

"Or anything," Neville said. "Why couldn't the monster have gotten him?"

"He's so ugly looking in the mirror has made him immune to the glare of a basilisk?" Harry suggested. They all laughed, even Hermione, though she tried to muffle it and look disapproving. Harry sent her a sly look. "Not at all like Lockhart," he said.

"Shut up," Hermione muttered. "He's not coming back, you know."

"Why not?" Draco asked her.

She looked embarrassed. "I might have highlighted all the errors in his book on werewolves and left it on his desk with an anonymous note saying that unless he found a new job and forgot all about teaching I'd expose him as a total fraud to the press." She looked around at their gaping mouths and said, sounding a little defensive, "He was a very bad teacher and should market his books as fiction. I might have suggested that too."

Draco let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said.

"Like you could," she said.

"Oh Merlin," Ron said, propping his feet up on the table. "Are we all going to be subjected to you two being gross again?" He let out a loud sigh. "I don't even know why I'm taking the train back. I'm going to have to floo up here three days a week all summer. It will be awful. I bet there are spiders in Snape's office. Giant, man-eating spiders."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco and Hermione hugged goodbye at the train station in London as Sirius caught Harry into a tight grip of his own. The basilisk incident had scared Sirius and scared him badly. Scars and snakes and monsters weren't, for him,creatures that hid under the bed and disappeared when you cast a _lumos_ at them. They sometimes didn't even go away when an _avada_ bounced off a small boy and landed on them and having Harry out of his sight for months on end was starting to feel less like an opportunity to shag every woman he could - though he was currently a little fixated on the alluring and elusive Elora Zabini - and instead felt more like a time the boy was vulnerable to any number of wounds.

He looked over the boy's head at Narcissa and the woman cleared her throat. At the sound Draco let go of Hermione and hastily took a step back, causing an amused glint to appear in his father's eyes. "We were planning on opening up our home this summer as a bit of a regular open house for Draco's school chums," Narcissa said. "He just rattles around all those rooms and gets into trouble on his own and there's only so many closets I can have the boy clean out. You are, of course, more than welcome, Miss Granger." She nodded back at Sirius. "And Harry will be there."

"Every day," Sirius said with a grin. "You think I plan to keep a boy cooped up in a townhouse? Be like keeping a dog in a cage."

"Yes, and Merlin forbid any dog should have any sort of a leash on him," Lucius muttered.

"I do feel an unchained dog is the best kind," Sirius said with a look that might pass for wolfish in certain light. "Certainly any kind of guard dog can't be tied down. Wouldn't do his best work."

"As long as we understand one another."

"We do," Sirius said, though someone looking closely might have noticed that his eyes scanned the crowd looking for the would-be-conquest he couldn't quite conquer. Remus coughed this time and Sirius refocused on Hermione and the Malfoys. "I have another bit of news," he said.

"Oh?" Narcissa said, the tone suggesting she didn't care in the slightest. Given that Sirius' news tended to be about the release dates of musical works she didn't appreciate or minutia about his motor bike her lack of interest was not surprising.

"Yes," Remus said, a bit nervously. "There's been an opening in the staff at Hogwarts - apparently Lockhart has taken it into his head to write a novel so he's going off to Iceland to become inspired by the aurora - and Professor McGonagall put my name forward and, well, I'll start in the fall."

"Start what?" Lucius asked.

"He'll be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Sirius said.

He and Narcissa exchanged a look. "That's wonderful," she said. "You'll miss him, I'm sure."

Before Sirius could offer an obnoxious answer that would likely have been inappropriate for twelve-year-old ears Neville Longbottom bumped into him as he was struggling to pull his cart loaded down with his trunks, his toad's terrarium, and bags of things that wouldn't fit neatly into any of his cases. "Whoa," Sirius said. "Neville, isn't it? Frank's son? Damn, you look like him. Do you need a hand?"

Augusta Longbottom, coming up behind Neville, let her eyes rake over Sirius where he stood. Her loud sniff made her opinion of Sirius' ripped Muggle jeans, faded t-shirt and leather jacket more than clear. Neville, whose eyes had gotten bright at the mention of his father, dropped his head and stared at his feet in their sensible, brown shoes. "Sirius Black, I presume," Augusta said at last, manners winning out over her condemnation. "How nice to see you. You are well, I hope?"

"Quite well," Sirius said with a slouch and an insouciant ease that made even the gracious Narcissa look a bit gauche and uncomfortable. "Harry'd mentioned he was in a room with a Neville but until I saw him just now I didn't put it together that he was Frank's son. Spitting image, he is." Sirius looked momentarily sad. "He was a brave man, Frank was. A great man."

"He was," Augusta said, thawing.

"I bet Neville here is just like his father," Sirius went on. "You must be so proud to watch him. Seeing Harry become more and more like James every year is - "

"Neville works hard," Augusta said, interrupting him as her lips thinned back into a tight, pained line. "But Frank was more - "

"I've been meaning to owl you," Narcissa said before the woman could continue that thought. "We plan to invite all of Draco's chums over this summer and Neville is more than - "

"Never," Augusta Longbottom said. "Let's go, Neville."

She strode off and, with a forlorn look back at his friends, Neville trailed after her, tugging his cart behind him.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _I wish I could go to Draco's this summer,_ Neville wrote in his diary. _Gran won't let me because of his aunt and now I'm just stuck here in this stupid mansion all summer with no one to talk to and nothing to do._

The words swirled away and were replaced with Tom's elegant script. _It's okay. I can teach you lots of things this summer. You'll go back and be the strongest wizard at the school_.

Neville swiped at his eyes were tears threatened to fall and blur the ink in his diary. Harry's kind-of father had said he reminded him of his own dad. Neville wanted to ask him more. What was he like? Was he kind? Was he brave? Did he ever feel lonely and left out and like he didn't measure up?

 _I want to be the strongest_ , he wrote at last. _I want to be the best._


	28. Chapter 28 (Start of Third Year)

"What is the matter with you?" Harry poked at Hermione. She was slouching in one of the chairs on the Malfoy's back veranda and if looks could kill her glass of lemonade would have been long deceased.

She shoved the parchment she'd been carrying around since she'd arrived for their near daily excursions to Malfoy Manor at him. Narcissa, or rather the house elves at her direction, set out sandwiches, crisps, pumpkin juice and lemonade for the stream of not-quite-pre-any-more adolescents who straggled in and out of the fireplace. On any day you could have found Harry, Hermione, Theo, or Pansy gobbling up the lunch and arguing about Quidditch and was it _really_ possible that this year there'd be a school dance because Ron's older brother Percy had overheard something and mentioned it to his mother in front of Ron who'd told Dean who'd told Seamus who'd owled Neville who'd written to Pansy and so it had to be true.

Harry took the parchment and read it and looked back at the girl with confusion. "You asked for a time-turner? Why?"

"So I can take more classes, obviously," Hermione said with a huff. "The way the schedule is set out I can't take Muggle Studies and Divination and Runes and I want to take all of them. It seems really unfair."

"So you want to travel in time just to do more studying? Are you mental?" Pansy demanded. "Never mind. You're a Gryffindor. Of course you're mental."

Harry threw a wadded up napkin at her but, because the Malfoys, unlike Sirius, set out cloth napkins it just fluttered to the ground instead of smacking into the girl with a satisfying thwack. This made her smirk more broadly and take a sip from her own lemonade. "Face it, Potter," she said. "We're the winners and you are not."

"Why would anyone travel in time?" Draco demanded. "What good could possibly come of that?"

"I could take - "

"You could lose your bloody mind from the strain," Theo said. "And what if you changed something and everything was different?" He shook his head. "What kind of idiot would give a restricted object like a time-turner to a third-year?"

"I'd only go back long enough to take extra classes," Hermione said looking put out by Theo's disgust with what had seemed like a perfectly good idea to her . "I'm not stupid. I wouldn't, I don't know, go back and kill Hitler or anything."

"Hitler?" Draco asked.

"Muggle tyrant," she said shortly. "All around bad guy the world would be better off without except Theo's right. I mean, you'd erase the present if you changed something that major about the past. But I wouldn't do that. I'd never do that. I'd just take - "

"More classes," Draco, Theo, Harry and Pansy said in unison.

Harry handed her back her letter from McGonagall. "Well, you can't," he said. "So stop whinging and sulking about it." He looked around and said, "Well, one more week of freedom before we're third years. I'm taking divination. It's supposed to be the easiest class at Hogwarts."

"I'm taking Runes," Theo said.

"Of course you are," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

"I am too," Hermione said, flashing one of her smiles at Theo.

"Not divination?" the boy asked her.

She snorted rudely. "I was curious about it, of course, but it's not like you can really predict the future. That's hogwash."

"There are seers," Harry said, glowering at her. "And prophecies." When she gave him a derisive look he said, "There are, Hermione. Just because you don't know something doesn't mean it isn't real. Sirius told me."

"You mean the Sirius who spends all his time on the floo with Blaise's mum? That Sirius?" Hermione asked. "Because I'm not sure I'd trust his judgement."

Harry flushed. "She's very pretty," he said. Sirius had spent a lot of the summer pursuing the beautiful woman and she'd alternated between being coy and unavailable. They'd all overheard Lucius complaining to Narcissa that she needed to tell her cousin to stop making a fool of himself and, since then, Harry's godfather's not-girlfriend had been fair game.

"What if they get married," Pansy asked with malice. "Wouldn't that make you and Blaise _brothers_?"

"Gross," Draco opined and they all laughed.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You seem peaked," Augusta Longbottom said, peering at Neville across the dinner table. She insisted on setting a full table with china and crystal for every meal and he lived in fear of breaking the delicate things she set out. Whenever anyone asked her about it she launched into a lecture on standards and how one mustn't let things slip because civilization could only be preserved if people upheld standards.

"It's what's the problem with people like Sirius Black," she would say with a sniff. "No standards."

"Peaked, Neville, Peaked," she said now as she examined her grandson's pale countenance. "You need to spend more time outdoors and less time writing in that journal of yours."

"Yes, gran," he said.

"Well," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "It's off to the train tomorrow and back to Hogwarts. Are you looking forward to your third year?"

"Yes, gran," he said. "I'll be happy to see my friends again."

She sniffed as she poured herself another glass of wine. "You go to school to learn," she said, "not to hang about with no-good ruffians like Draco Malfoy or… people… like… what's that girl's name?"

"Pansy Parkinson?" Neville asked. He'd owled the Slytherin several times over the summer and she'd always responded right away and they'd discovered a mutual interest in flowering bulbs.

"Not that one," Augusta Longbottem said. "The one in Gryffindor."

Neville blinked a few times though watery eyes before he asked, "Hermione?"

"Yes, her." Augusta pursed her lips. "Nothing against Muggle-borns, of course, but they can have a hard time adapting and you need to spend your time studying, not helping some girl." She patted her lips with a napkin before asking, "Did you learn anything this summer, Neville? You don't want to go back to school even further behind."

He smiled at her, a bland smile so unlike his usual unsure one she sat up a little straighter and examined him more closely before she decided the odd expression had been a trick of the light.

"Yes, gran," he said softly. "I think I learned a lot of things this summer."

. . . . . . . . . .

Narcissa and Remus sat down over the tea table. "You plan to take the train?" she asked him, eyebrows raised. "Why?"

Lucius had had a number of opinions on the wisdom of permitting a werewolf - "an actual monster, Narcissa," he'd said - to teach at Hogwarts and had expressed himself with clarity and purpose until she'd put a hand on his arm and said, "He can keep an eye on the boys, Lucius. Stop behaving like one of the ignorant masses; Remus Lupin is one of Harry's guardians and have you ever had the slightest worry about sending Draco over to visit?"

Lucius had had to admit his main concern about the children spending time at Grimmauld Place was that he didn't trust Sirius to adequately hide his pornography. Narcissa had discreetly not mentioned the magazine she'd found shoved between the mattresses in Draco's room and Lucius had stopped fomenting about Remus, recognizing he was being absurd.

"I just want to… it is like a trip back into my own childhood," Remus said. "James and Sirius and Peter and I used to get up to all sorts of things and I guess a part of me wants to relive that."

Narcissa's eyes softened as she regarded the man, aged past his years because of his monthly transformations. Small scars spanned his face and, though she'd never seen them, she suspected the rest of his body was similarly marked. It was tragic what had happened to him as a child.

"Everything just went tits up," Remus said, his fingers twitching on the delicate handle of his tea cup. "James murdered, Peter dead too, no one knows who did it. The war ended and it is fine now but… Harry is safe and he and Draco were the cutest little tykes as kids and now they are… they are interested in girls, Narcissa."

"Oh, I know," she murmured, thinking of that magazine.

"I miss them so much," Remus said with a sad laugh. "I am sure I am being pathetic and it will just be a tedious trip I could have avoided simply by apparating to the gates of the castle but - "

"I understand," she said, reaching a hand out to rest it on his. "We all lost things in the war, but you lost so much." She let her hand sit there for a moment before pulling it back and saying briskly, "but dwelling won't do you any good. I understand Severus is to make you your potion while you're at the castle?"

Remus nodded but his eyes shuttered and she sighed. "I know he's… difficult," she began.

"We have a history," Remus said. "And not a good one. He hates me and, as much as I am loathe to admit it, he is not totally wrong to do so." He looked down at the table. "Boys can be very unkind to one another and James and Sirius went after him like a cat after a rat."

"And you and Peter?" she asked.

"We just stood by and watched it happen," he said, still looking down. "It was not… it was not well done of us, Narcissa. There are not many things in my life I am ashamed of, but the way I did not… that is one of them." He shook himself as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "Anyway, Narcissa, you can trust me to let you know that the boys are up to. Innocent hijinks, I am sure, is all I will have to report."

Narcissa wasn't so sure about that. She remembered all too well how an innocent search for adventure had landed the pair, Hermione Granger in tow, in front of a man possessed by Voldemort. That had been hushed up, of course, but she knew it was just a matter of time before he was back. She had suspicions about the sudden awakening of the basilisk last year and they all centered around Voldemort somehow being back in Hogwarts. She just couldn't figure out how.

"I'm sure it will be fine," was all she said. "With the boys and with you." She raised her tea glass in a little toast. "To Professor Lupin, Hogwart's newest luminary."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville almost ran to join Draco and Hermione when he saw them on the platform. Only a disgruntled huff from his gran kept him at her side until it was time to board the train, at which point he flung himself into their compartment and dropped onto one of the seats. "I'm going to kill her," he said without preamble. "All summer long it was that I needed to study harder and work harder and why wasn't I more like my father. I'd hide in my room and she'd tell me I looked pale and peaked and needed to spend more time outdoors. I'd work in the gardens and she'd tell me I was getting dirty and to go clean up." He made an unhappy face and shook his head. "I am so glad to be going back to school."

There was a loud meow at that pronouncement.

"What is that?" Neville demanded.

"My cat," Hermione said happily. "I wanted a familiar. You have the toad and Harry has the owl and Draco has all the stuffed otters and I wanted one of my own."

The cat let out another loud yowl.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hermione asked, leaning down to peer through the holes in the carry case at the cat within. Neville bent down and squinted his eyes. The cat glared back at him. If he'd ever seen a less beautiful or less friendly cat he couldn't remember it. The cat's nose was squished and its eyes were narrowed in what he suspected was a permanent glare. It was a cat who's every twitch promised death to anyone who messed with it. Hermione reached her hand into the cage and scratched at the monster's ears and it let out a loud, rumbling purr and rubbed the side of its face against her hand without ever stopping its glaring at Neville.

Neville straightened up and looked at Draco who mouthed, 'Tell her it's beautiful' at him.' Neville suspected that suggestion was borne of unpleasant personal experience with telling Hermione the truth about her cat's appearance and so he said, "He's really pretty, Hermione. What's his name?"

"See," she said, turning her head to look at Draco. "Neville thinks my Crooksie is beautiful."

"Crooksie?" he asked her.

"Crookshanks," Draco said. "He's half-kneazle."

"It shows," Neville said. When Hermione shot him a look he said as quickly as he could, "Because he's so big and seems so intelligent."

"He is, isn't he?" Hermione cooed. "You can let cats just wander at Hogwarts, as long as you've done a contraceptive spell on them so, you know, no kittens. I had the guy at the pet shop do it just in case but he showed me how."

At that moment Ron Weasley opened the door of their compartment and said, "Do you mind if I sit here? Most every place is full up."

"No problem," Draco said as Neville moved over to make room. "How was your summer?"

"Good," Ron said with a grin. "Dad won a little lottery and so we all went to Egypt on holiday. Bill works there, sometimes. He's a curse breaker," he added in explanation to Hermione who nodded. She'd heard a lot about Ron's illustrious older brothers, the curse breaker and the dragon tamer, over the past two years. Ron pulled Scabbers out of his pocket and smiled at the mangy rat. "Scabbers got to go with us. It was fun, wasn't it?"

The rat just sat listlessly on his palm until, as the train lurched forward and their trip began, Crookshanks let out a loud hiss and pushed a paw out one of the holes in his box towards the rat.

"Watch that thing, would you?" Ron demanded, cradling the now frantic Scabbers up against his chest. "I thought cat familiars were trained well enough to not go after pets."

Hermione frowned at the cage. "I'm sorry," she said to Ron. "I don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe it's just the movement of the train?"

"Maybe," Ron said.


	29. Chapter 29

They'd barely settled into their seats at the Sorting Feast when Blaise Zabini stalked over to their table, for once without his Crabbe and Goyle-shaped shadows. Draco eyed the boy with disdain but Zabini wasn't interested in him.

"Potter," Zabini said, the tone absolutely scathing.

Harry looked up and shrugged. "That's my name, Zabini. Glad to know after three years you've figured it out."

"Tell your worthless not-father to keep his filthy paws off my mum!"

Hermione looked like she was going to open her mouth and tell the boy where he could go. She might have even have had some suggestions on what he could do once he got there, but Draco kicked her under the table and, with a dirty look at him, she merely folded her arms and favored Zabini with her best glare. Her best glare was, alas, wasted, because the handsome boy didn't take his own eyes off Harry. Neville set his glass down and regarded the whole exchange with interest and even Ron, Seamus, and Dean stopped their discussion of explosives to listen.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Blaisey-Blaisey," Harry said, "that my dad might not be that interested in dating advice from a thirteen-year-old?"

Zabini clenched his jaw. "She can do better than some — "

"Than a Black?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "I doubt it."

"He's not a Black anymore," Zabini said. A tiny tremble of his jaw undermined the sneer he had on. "We all know his own mother burned him from the family tapestry. I'm warning you, Potter, if they start dating - "

"You'll what?" Harry asked. "Get mad enough to actually catch the Snitch this year?"

Neville's audible snicker made Blaise Zabini scowl at him but the boy just quirked his lips into a taunting smile at the angry Slytherin and Zabini didn't say anything to him. With a glance at all the assembled third-year Gryffindors he turned his back so the High Table couldn't see him and flipped a V at them before returning to his own table and friends.

"What does Sirius see in his mum anyway?" Hermione asked, following the boy with her eyes. "If she's anything like him — "

"She's so fit," Harry said glumly. "Merlin, Hermione, have you seen her? It's like she's not even real."

"Blaise is not ugly," she conceded. At Draco's narrowed eyes she added hastily, "I mean, on the outside. I know he's a right prat, but you have to admit he's nice to look at."

"If you say so," Draco said. The tone suggested he thought she was mental on this issue.

"You don't think he's really interested in her, do you?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. "He doesn't really talk about stuff like that with me," he said. "I'm just as glad, really. I get the impression when I'm up here at Hogwarts he's — "

"He gets around," Draco said. "A lot. I heard Mum and Dad talking about it once."

"Right. But I don't think he ever means anything," Harry said.

"Ugh, I hope not," Hermione said. "Can you imagine Blaise Zabini as your brother? The very idea is ludicrous."

They all laughed at the impossibility of that. The worst prat in all of Slytherin, like a brother to Harry? It could never happen. Still, when he thought no one was looking Harry cast worried glances over at the Slytherin table where Blaise Zabini was very pointedly not looking back at him. Maybe he should ask Sirius - or Remus - whether his guardian was interested in more than conquest this time.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Severus," Remus Lupin stopped the man in the corridor outside the faculty lounge. "I wanted to thank you for — "

"Don't." Severus Snape regarded the man standing before him with utter contempt. "I cannot imagine what possessed Dumbledore to hire you, but rest assured I will do my best to protect the students from what you are."

"Fine." Remus took a deep breath. "Then I would like the chance to apologize for — "

"For nearly eating me?" Severus Snape quirked an eyebrow upward. "How - what's the word I want? - droll. How _droll_ of you to think that could be done away with with merely some trite words years later."

"I have been haunted by what could have been," Remus doggedly went on. "I would never have forgiven myself. If James hadn't — "

"Yes," Snape sneered. "James. James Potter. Such a lovely boy, as I recall, always quick with a hex. Quite the puffed-up little hero he was." He pulled his robes to the side as he swept past. "Just take your medicine, Remus Lupin, and keep your unwanted apologies to yourself. I'm not here to be your confessor."

Remus stared at the back of the retreating potions master. "Well," he muttered. "That went about as well as I expected." He felt in his pocket for a chocolate bar and, pulling out the one he found, began peeling the paper back. "Arsehole," he added.

. . . . . . . . . .

Things went well enough as the school year began, despite Zabini's glares and Neville's odd silences, until Care of Magical Creatures rolled around. That was a disaster no one anticipated. Hagrid had produced a herd of hippogriffs for them to meet, which was fairly exciting.

"The Ministry curriculum would have us petting kneazles," one girl whispered to another. "This is so much better!"

"I know," her friend whispered back. "They're beautiful."

"Now these here are right proud beasts," Hagrid said. "They take offense easily." As the students shifted uneasily, eyeing the vicious looking claws with some concern, Hagrid explained they had to bow, had to be courteous, had to be _careful,_ all while beaming at the students as though he were offering them a box of the most wonderful sweets. As his warnings went on people seemed to grow still more and more uneasy at the thought of approaching the creatures until Hagrid asked for a volunteer. Most students eased themselves backward, leaving Harry in the front of the group.

"Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Right! No student who helped kill a basilisk could be scared of a wee little beastie like these."

A murmur ran through the assembled students.

"Shouldna said that," Hagrid muttered before adding more brightly, "Well, step up, lad, and don't forget to bow."

Harry smirked at Hermione and Draco before stepping even closer to the beast.

"'is name is Buckbeak," Hagrid said.

Harry bowed and, after a moment, Buckbeak dipped his head in return. With admirable caution, Harry stepped closer and began to run his hand along the animal's feathers and, when Buckbeak tipped his head to the side to allow greater access to his neck, Hermione and Draco tentatively joined their friend. Other students began to approach other members of the herd and soon the entire class were petting and scratching the creatures.

"You're not so ugly, after all," Draco murmured as he stroked Buckbeak's feathers. "And you're so soft, I -"

What Draco thought of Buckbeak's softness was never to be revealed, however, as the hippogriff took offense Draco might have ever thought him ugly and reared up, slashing the boy's arm on his descent. Draco fell backward as he stumbled to get away from the suddenly violent creature, and Hermione gasped and turned on the beast, her wand out. "You stay away from him," she cried, her face contorted in a mix of terror and fury. Buckbeak probably would have attacked her as well but Hagrid flung himself between the beast and the children.

"Get 'im to the infirmary," he ordered. "What did you say to 'im, you fool?" He turned and began patting Buckbeak. "It's okay, laddie," Hagrid said as he soothed the hippogriff, his back to the students. "He didn't mean it, whatever he said."

"That's it?" Hermione nearly shrieked at the professor. "You're just going to tell us to take him to the infirmary while you fuss with that thing? He could be really hurt!"

"C'mon, Hermione," Harry said. He began dragging the girl away, out of range of the freshly agitated hippogriff. "Don't make him madder."

He and Hermione helped Draco to his feet. The boy was paler than usual and blood seeped out of his arm at an alarming rate. Hermione yanked off her tie and wrapped it around his arm as a makeshift bandage and, with a furious look back over her shoulder at Hagrid, helped Draco back toward the castle.

"My father will hear about this," Draco mumbled as blood loss made it harder for him to walk and he began to sag in their grip. "Stupid oaf."

. . . . . . . . . .

Minerva McGonagall cornered Hagrid in the teacher's lounge. "If I could have a word, Rubeus," she murmured. When he didn't move she added more sharply, "In my office, if you please. Now."

No one ignored Minerva McGonagall when she got that edge to her voice.

"He dinna mean it," Hagrid said as soon as the door was closed.

"Mr. Malfoy or your hippogriff?" McGonagall asked. She sounded frigidly polite and Hagrid who was far more used to Albus Dumbledore's twinkles, swallowed hard.

"Err, Buckbeak," he said.

McGonagall eyed him with what looked like fury simmering behind her eyes. "A student in my House - _my House_ \- was hurt today because you introduced inappropriate creatures in your class," she began.

Hagrid gulped and began to explain that the beasts were really quite gentle but McGonagall cut him off. "I don't care if they love to have their bellies scratched and give kisses and hugs," she hissed. "You made a gross error in judgement introducing a class of third years to them and, as a result, a student was seriously hurt. Then you aggravated that error by just telling another student to walk him to the infirmary."

Hagrid began to squirm.

"Fortunately," McGonagall went on, "the boy won't lose the arm and Poppy was able to get enough blood replenishing potion into him that he'll be fine." She took a deep breath. "I might even be able to keep the Malfoys from asking for your head on a platter but, Rubeus, if they do, I will not stand in their way, do you understand me?"

Hagrid nodded, his own face white.

She sighed. "Do yourself a favor, Rubeus, and stick to the traditional curriculum. I realize it bores you, but if you'd just had them working with kneazles - or better yet flobberworms - the worst thing that would have happened would have been a scratch."

"Kneazles can be right nasty," Hagrid objected. "Smart creatures, can smell an animagus a mile away, but they can have a temper, just like ca…" He trailed off and closed his mouth. "Right," he said after a moment. "I'll just be going then," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

The owl from McGonagall arrived slightly ahead of the one from Draco. Narcissa read both missives and Lucius watched her try to contain her growing fury but she appeared to fail at that and, at last, she handed the letters to Lucius without saying a word. He read them and his eyes grew harder and colder with every line.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. That what he wanted to do was have the teacher fired and then, quite possibly, skinned alive and roasted over an open fire went without saying. Draco was his only son. His heir. He would do anything for the boy, anything at all, because family was the _most_ important thing. He had joined Minerva McGonagall as a spy, turning his back on the most dangerous man he'd ever known He'd done this on nothing but his wife's seemingly impossible story of a time traveller from the future bearing a Dark Mark on his arm because he never, ever wanted his son to know what he'd endured as one of that lunatic's followers.

No, Draco's arm would remain _un_ Marked.

The unMarked arm the boy had almost _lost_ in an accident at school because of an inept, careless, unprofessional, pathetic excuse for a teacher.

"Obviously the beast needs to be put down," Narcissa said.

"There will have to be a hearing," Lucius said. It wasn't that he didn't agree with her. He did. He just wanted to be sure she understood he couldn't just march up to the school and demand the damned hippogriff be executed.

"Then bribe the judges," Narcissa snapped. "I want that creature dead, Lucius. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to hurt our son."

"Consider it done," he said.

He set Minerva McGonagall's letter back down and returned to Draco's. The boy sounded scared, that showed even through the bluster and outrage. That wasn't what drew Lucius Malfoy's attention, however. Draco related the entire incident in detail and what stood out to Lucius was what had happened after the soon-to-be-dead beast had attacked his son.

"Did a thirteen-year-old girl really pull her wand on a hippogryff?" he asked Narcissa. "Do you think he's exaggerating? It would have killed her."

"Well, the professor apparently put himself between the thing and the children, but, yes, I don't doubt she was that rash." Narcissa shrugged. "You know how Gryffindors are," was what she said but what she pictured in her mind was the exhausted woman who'd dripped blood over Narcissa's priceless carpets and erased her own existence to bring a warning into the past. "Passionate things, and brave, but a bit impetuous. They don't look out for themselves properly."

"I guess we'll have to make sure she's looked after, then," Lucius said as he folded the note.

. . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - You can check the status and update schedules of my works-in-progress on tumblr at colubrina dot tumblr dot com slash wip_**

 ** _Thank you shayalonnie, who alpha reads for me, and turbulenthandholding, who beta read this chapter, as well as all the lovely people who take the time to share their thoughts._**


	30. Chapter 30

Neville waited for Pansy in the corridor and when she strolled out of her class he caught her eye. "Hey," he said.

She stopped, waving her friends on ahead of her. "Hey yourself," she said. She'd rolled her uniform skirt just high enough to seem daring without risking being told to return to her room and come back when she was properly attired, and she'd let her academic robe hang open so people could see she'd done it. She surely thought the result was fashionable and edgy. Narcissa Malfoy probably would have considered her adorable.

"I really appreciated your owls this summer," Neville said. He almost flushed as he added, "Looked forward to them."

She bit her lip and ducked her head. "Glad you liked them," she said.

"My gran," he said, "She's… I wasn't allowed to go see Draco because of his aunt and Harry's over there all the time so… I pretty much just worked in the garden and practiced magic."

Pansy frowned. That Draco's family had been on the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was public knowledge, though she wasn't sure what his aunt had done that was so awful Neville's gran wouldn't let him see _Draco_. _Draco_ was harmless. "I'm sorry," she said. Then she blinked at him a few times and said, "Wait, you practiced magic? We aren't supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts until we're of age."

He shrugged. He was somehow different this year and if Pansy suspected he'd never be as angular as Draco or Theodore, or have the shocking green eyes Harry had, he was cute enough. "Gran didn't know," he admitted before he grinned. "She wouldn't have minded though. She was so worried I was a squib that if she caught me levitating things behind the shed she'd be relieved. Not that she'd admit it, of course." His smile faltered for a moment. "She thinks I'm a bit of a dunce." He reached down and fumbled in his bag and pulled out a sloppily wrapped package. "I brought you something."

She took the present and looked at it. "We aren't supposed to do magic out of school," she said again.

"And you're such a rule abiding good girl?" he asked with a glint in his eyes that made her own widen. He tipped his head to the package. "Go on, open it."

Pansy pulled the paper off and looked at the tiny pot with first confusion and then delight. Neville had given her a bulb, the label said it was one of the ones they'd talked about over the summer, and it was just beginning to poke through the dirt.

"I had to force it," he said, "but you shouldn't have any trouble keeping it going now."

"Neville," she said, "thank you." She looked at the little pot. "That was so thoughtful."

"Want to eat lunch together?" he asked.

"I…sure," she said. She hesitated for a moment. "Which table?"

He shrugged. "How about yours?"

"You'll eat with the snakes?" she asked in disbelief; her question hadn't been serious. Even Draco, who was friends with many of her Housemates and had been since they were children, wouldn't cross that line to eat at another table. Even Harry, who was stupidly fearless, stayed with the Gryffindors.

Neville gave a weird little laugh before he smiled at her. "I spent the summer with my gran," he said. "I think I can handle some Slytherins."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hagrid was waiting in the corridor, twisting his hat in his hands, when Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy emerged from their meeting with Albus Dumbledore. Narcissa wrinkled her nose when she saw him though Lucius looked as patrician as always.

"'e's a good boy," Hagrid said abruptly.

"Draco?" Narcissa raised her eyebrows in disdain at how clear it was the looming half-giant in front of her meant his monster, not her injured son.

"Jus'…don' hurt him," Hagrid said.

"There will be a hearing," Dumbledore said, coming down the stairs behind the couple. "I'm sure they will take everything into account." He patted Hagrid on the arm. "Don't fret," he said. "You can testify and explain what happened."

Narcissa's tight smile grew tighter. "I want to see my son before we leave," she said. "My son, who was grievously injured while in your care." She looked at Hagrid. "While in _that man's_ class." Even Hagrid couldn't miss the utter loathing in her voice.

They found Draco in the courtyard, his arm in a sling, trying to get Hermione to pay more attention to him. She seemed more interested in an essay she was working on than on his attempts to tell her how much his arm hurt, however. She spared him sympathetic noises at mostly appropriate intervals, though the eyerolls she exchanged with Harry were probably far more representative of her real opinion by now. Narcissa watched the pair of them and felt the tension in her shoulders ease. If Hermione Granger were as bored by Draco's whinging as she seemed, the boy was no longer in any danger. A smile slowly pulled at her mouth as she recalled the way Draco had milked every childhood ailment, coaxing extra biscuits from elves and lying in bed saying, "Mum, it hurts," in the most pathetic voice he could muster.

When he looked up and saw her he bounded over and hugged her, flinching as his arm bumped into her. Her shoulders tightened again. He might not be in any danger but he was still in pain. "Still sore?" she asked.

He nodded but put a brave smile on his face. "It's getting better, Mum." He pulled away from her and brushed his hair out of his eyes; it promptly fell back. "It wasn't the hippogriff's fault; don't hurt it. I called it ugly and I guess they're really - "

Narcissa put a finger to his lips. "You are very sweet to be concerned about the beast," she said, "but it is unacceptable to have dangerous creatures in a class of third year students."

"But I messed up," Draco said. He had the stubborn look on his face she remembered from when he was a toddler and the memory of Draco at three digging his heels in about whatever random absurdity he'd latched onto made her reach out and tuck his hair back again, using a tiny, wordless sticking charm to hold it in place.

"Let the adults handle this, Draco," she said.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Hermione said after the Malfoys had left. "Wanting to have a hearing is…well, it seems excessive to be honest but Hagrid can explain and you can explain and maybe Buckbeak shouldn't be at a _school_ but - "

Draco shook his head as he watched his parents, accompanied by the Headmaster, walk away. "She wants him dead," he said. "I can tell. And my mum…what she wants, she gets."

Hermione looked at Harry, who nodded. "It's true," he said. "I love her but Mum doesn't… if she wants a thing done, it happens."

"But that's not right," Hermione said, her voice starting to spiral up in protest. "It's not _fair_. She can't just demand a creature that just acted…it didn't _know_." She glared at Draco as though his mother's nature were somehow his fault. "You can't let her do this!"

He raised his good arm as if to placate her but it didn't matter. She went on about this wasn't fair, the poor hippogriff, it had just behaved the way its nature dictated and, yes, maybe having it in class wasn't the _best_ idea but you couldn't just… "We have to do something," she said at last.

Draco looked nervous. Going on an adventure that led past a three-headed dog was one thing; crossing his mum another one entirely.

"We should wait until after the hearing," Harry said and Hermione huffed but agreed. Draco looked at Harry and they exchanged 'as if it will matter' looks. They both knew the Malfoys would fix any hearing but at least they'd gotten Hermione to back down for now.

What she'd do when the poor beast was condemned they didn't know.

"She's right, you know," Harry said later as they were getting into their beds.

"About what?" Draco asked.

"It isn't fair that Buckbeak has to die because you acted like an idiot."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Are you really going out with that woman _again_?" Narcissa had come over to Grimmauld Place to drop off some of Harry's endless laundry that the elves found in random corners of Malfoy Manor. She had opted not to ask questions about how many pairs of pants there were; adolescent boys were disgusting creatures and there were things she'd prefer not to explore in detail.

Rather like her cousin's infatuation with that horrid Zabini woman.

"She's very intellectual," Sirius said with a smirk.

Narcissa just looked at him until he began to squirm under her gaze. "I'm not going to _marry_ her," he said at last, the words a mumble. "Bloody hell, woman, she's - "

"After your money," Narcissa said, keeping her words level with more care that she liked having to use. She was truly irritated with Sirius. He could do whatever pleased himself once Harry was grown, but his latching onto a notorious witch _now_ was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst. She wasn't sure how much time they had until the damned Dark Lord returned and she wanted Sirius keeping an eye on the boys, not on some tart's arse.

"I do know that," Sirius said. "I'm not fourteen, you know." He began to scowl at Narcissa and she cursed herself for having played her hand too quickly. Now the man was put out she thought he was a fool - which she did - and would probably do something especially stupid in response, proving her right.

She already missed having Remus around to keep him in line.

"I think I'll have her bring her boy over for a visit when they're all home on the winter holiday," he said. "Get to know the kid. The boys are probably already all friends."

Narcissa ground her teeth and said, "Just have Kreacher do Harry's laundry before she comes over. That pile of stinking rags might put her off."

"Nah," Sirius said. "She's after the vault. She'll tell me she _loves_ doing homey chores like laundry." He grinned. "She might even do it if I play my cards right. It'd be worth it, too, if it wouldn't mean Kreacher would sulk for a week."

Sometimes Narcissa wondered whether Sirius was as crazy as his mother had been. She missed his brother Regulus; he'd been young and passionate and prone to over-the-top histrionics but he'd seemed to have escaped the worst of the Black instability. One of these days she needed to track down what had happened to him and get him a proper burial.

She bid Sirius goodbye, reminding him to get Kreacher on the laundry task lest Harry's clothes start moving on their own and, trying not to let her wretched cousin see how much his little flirtation annoyed her, apparated away to her own front lawn.

Narcissa's jaw only relaxed when she stomped up the steps of Malfoy Manor, peacocks scattering in her wake, muttering, "You are an utter idiot, Sirius Black, and, if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been dropped on your head as a baby." She stopped muttering as she realized that having her fool of a cousin bring the boys over for a little social gathering was perfect. Elora Zabini didn't care about her child, that had been more than obvious when they met the woman at the Quidditch game, and Sirius, whatever his flaws, was _devoted_ to Harry. Seeing the beautiful Mrs. Zabini interact with her child would turn him away from her faster than any scolding from his cousin would.

"You just do that, Sirius," she said. "You have that woman over with her boy and see how fast you decide to run away from her. The only real question is whether you'll try to steal her own brat and stuff in him a spare room the way the Potters did with you before you show her the door."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I hate him," Blaise Zabini said. He was slouched in a chair in the Slytherin common room with his lackeys around him. Daphne Greengrass had perched on the arm of the chair and was regarding him as though every word that came out of his sulky mouth contained the wisdom of the ages. Pansy had already made a vomiting gesture at the way her roommate fawned on their handsome classmate. Theodore had snickered but Blaise and Daphne had roundly ignored her.

"Potter?" Greg Goyle prompted.

"Yeah," Blaise said. "He thinks he's so _special_ with his stupid godfather and the stupid Malfoys and his stupid broom and his stupid flying." He pulled a practice Snitch from his pocket and passed it from hand to hand, each pass more sullen than the one before. "And now that Professor Lupin is here he's even got a _teacher_ who cares about him. Everyone cares about stupid little perfect Potter."

Daphne nodded and kept her eyes glued to Blaise's face.

"What are you going to do about it," Vincent asked.

"I don't know," Blaise admitted. "But if his stupid godfather lays one hand on my mother I will make him pay." He passed the Snitch back and forth and back and forth. "Stupid Potter, thinking everybody loves him. Well, I don't, and I'll make sure he knows it."

. . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N - Thank you to Shayalonnie and turbulenthandholding for alpha/beta reading this for me.**


	31. Chapter 31

"I'm _sorry_ ," Hermione said. They'd all lost count of how many times she'd had to pull Crookshanks away from Ron's rat.

"You should be," Ron said, cradling his miserable rat against his chest. "Scabbers is going to have a heart attack if your stupid cat keeps going after him."

Draco opened his mouth to say something about how Scabbers already had one paw in the grave but Harry kicked him under the table and, with a glance at Hermione's stubborn jaw, Draco decided discretion might not only be the better part of valor but, more importantly, might keep the witch from turning on him when she was done with Ron. "You aren't even supposed to _have_ a rat at school," Hermione said. "The rules say a cat, a toad or an owl and you have a rat and that is _not allowed._ " She cuddled her cat more tightly and the orange beast looked at Ron with a smirk on its face. "Crooksie never goes after Neville's toad," she added.

"Only after Neville," Lavender Brown said from where she sat. She'd been working on her own homework and eavesdropping.

They all looked at Neville who shrugged uncomfortably. It was true that Crookshanks, who spent most of his time going from lap to lap and demanding attention from everyone in Gryffindor, wouldn't allow the boy to touch him. The few times Neville had tried the cat had taken a swipe at him. "I guess I'm just not a cat person," he said.

"Hermione's right, though," Lavender said, eyeing Ron. "You aren't supposed to have that rat."

"He's my pet," Ron objected.

Lavender shrugged. "I didn't get to bring my pet rabbit. I don't see why you get to bring a rat." She gave the mangy rat Ron was still cuddling a scathing look. "That thing might have some kind of horrible disease. I hope you don't let it sleep on your pillow or anything."

Ron scrunched his face up and glared at her. Draco snickered because Ron _did_ let the rat sleep in his bed every night.

"Did you know that rats are probably responsible for the Black Death?" Hermione asked. "Lavender's right. They spread disease."

Lavender looked smug at having the brainy Hermione Granger announce she was right and Ron's glare deepened. It was clear he did not appreciate the pair of them criticizing his beloved pet. "No one asked you _or_ her," he said. "Scabbers is a good rat. There's nothing wrong with him at all."

"Other than he's missing a bit of his foot," Lavender said. "Wonder if some awful disease made it fall off."

"There are reasons for rules," Hermione said. She had the sanctimonious tone she got in her voice when she was absolutely sure she was right. "Cats and rats don't mix well and if you hadn't brought an animal that was not allowed you wouldn't have to worry he'd get eaten."

Ron glared at her. Hermione's penchant for rules irritated him. "Just keep your stupid cat away from my rat and we won't have anything to worry about."

. . . . . . . . . .

"You plan to have it put to _death_?" Sirius squinted at Narcissa. "Doesn't that seem a little extreme, Cissa? I mean, the kid's fine."

Narcissa looked at him and said, "So says the man who uttered the word 'fuck' over a dozen times in one conversation when it was about Harry _maybe_ being at trivial risk of harm. You didn't want to risk a hair on _your_ ward's head, even to capture a dangerous monster that only he could talk to. You were vehement, Sirius. What would you have done if that _thing_ had hurt him? Even a little."

Sirius looked over her shoulder at the wall and mumbled a little bit about how it wasn't the same.

"No," Narcissa agreed. "My son was injured in a class thanks to both a monster and a negligent teacher, and now some people have the nerve to suggest I should just let this creature go on posing a risk. Maybe next time a child _will_ lose an arm, or worse, because someone decided it was perfectly reasonable to teach thirteen year olds a class on magical creatures using Hippogriffs instead of Kneazles." She never raised her voice or evinced any suggestion she was the slightest bit riled but Sirius felt a chill go down his spine. It was easy to forget that pretty, dainty little Narcissa was a Black and as stubborn and unyielding as the rest of her sisters. Andromeda had taken her banishment and consigned the rest of her family to the devil with never a single look back. Bellatrix had been sent to Azkaban cooing that the Dark Lord would reward her loyalty. If Narcissa had latched onto this she would pursue it with dogged single-mindedness. He was glad he wasn't standing between her and this unfortunate Hippogriff.

"Isn't there supposed to be a hearing?" Sirius asked.

Narcissa just gave him a long look and he sighed. As if hearings ever went any way other than how the Malfoys wanted.

"How's dear Elora?" she asked, changing the subject from what he considered her folly to what she thought of as his.

Sirius grinned at her. "She does this neat thing with her tongue. I could go into detail?"

"Or you could _not,"_ Narcissa said with a grimace. "Have you considered my suggestion to have her and the boys over to visit over the holiday? I'm sure that would be a lovely way to interact as one big family."

"I have," Sirius told her, "and Elora thinks that sounds wonderful."

. . . . . . . . . .

Remus Lupin had doubts about the syllabus. Somehow making children face their worst fears in public seemed like it was asking for trouble. However, he was determined to make this job work, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on Harry, and he didn't want to cause trouble by objecting to the lesson plan, so, if the lesson plan read boggarts, he supposed he would do boggarts.

He just hoped that most of them were afraid of things like centipedes or loud noises. Simple things. He sat at his desk and stared at the cabinet with the boggart locked away knowing for him it would be the moon, for Sirius, his mother. James would have seen Lily's death. He'd never known what Peter's was. Cats, maybe, given his animagus form. Remus supposed it didn't matter now.

Dear Godric, Remus thought, don't let any of them have mothers like Walburga. Don't let any true horrors come out of that cupboard.

As the third year Gryffindors filed in he let them get settled and then began his explanation on boggarts. The creatures were common enough pests that most of them, other than the Muggle-borns, had heard of them before. Remus explained how the creatures took the shape of your worst fear and that the solution was to laugh at it. "If you make a thing ridiculous," he said, "it loses its power over you." He taught them the charm to ward the creatures off and added that the practical part of this lesson was wholly voluntary. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to," he reassured them.

In retrospect he admitted to himself that might have not been the wisest course of action to take with a class of Gryffindors. They all seemed to take that as a dare and little Parvati with her long hair and painted nails stepped forward first. Remus opened the cupboard and a snake came out, poised to strike. She did the charm flawlessly, though Remus gaped at the clown that wobbled in place of the cobra. He privately thought her clown considerably more frightening than the snake it had replaced and suspected he'd see the thing again in his own nightmares. He didn't mention that and merely complimented her on her technique, sent the boggart back to the cupboard and asked who would like to go next.

Ron Weasley turned out to be afraid of spiders. Dean Thomas was afraid of hand that crept across the floor, pulling itself by its fingers. Remus was briefly concerned he'd have to banish the dreadful apparition himself, but the Thomas boy collected his wits and closed a mousetrap around it. Hermione Granger was greeted by a vision of Minerva shaking her head and holding an essay with a failing mark on it. Lavender Brown snickered at that, but before Remus could admonish her and comfort the obviously terrified Miss Granger, Hermione spun and ran from the room, her body shaking with sobs of both fear and humiliation.

"I'll go after her," Draco Malfoy said and, before Remus could grant or withhold permission, the boy had darted off.

"Anyone else?" Remus asked, trying to salvage the class. He cringed when Harry stepped forward. The child had never mentioned any significant fears to either himself or Sirius but the worst nightmare of a boy who'd seen his mother die in front of him at the hands of Voldemort had to be terrible. Remus wasn't sure whether he'd see that wretched basilisk hissing, a flash of green light, or even the pale face of the worst monster imaginable. His fears evaporated, however, when clouds drifted out of the cupboard. They were fluffy and white and looked like they came from a painting of a perfect, summer afternoon. Remus almost expected to see Muggle angels lolling about on top of them even as the clouds began to drift apart and dissipate. He smiled at how benign Harry's fear was until a tiny voice whispered to him that his own fear of the moon probably would look harmless to anyone who didn't know how tightly it was bound with all the horror of being a monster. Harry had gone almost as white as the clouds at their appearance but he gripped his wand tightly and uttered the charm and the clouds coalesced into a lyre.

Remus laughed as he recalled Harry's dreadful lyre concert the summer he was eleven. The boy had an excellent sense of the ridiculous, not to mention the ability to poke fun at himself, if that was the image he'd held in his mind to drive away the clouds. Harry bowed to the class, most of whom looked confused, though Neville snickered with appreciation at the lyre before Remus sent it back into the cupboard and locked the door lest the creature get out and terrorize the school.

Remus dismissed them with a reminder that anyone who preferred to do the practical part of the boggart lesson in private was welcome to come by his office. Enough students looked relieved at the private option that Remus cringed at what he might learn. Please, he thought again to himself, no Walburgas in their lives. Please let there be no abuse, he thought as the Gryffindors left the classroom, just spiders and ghosts and things that go bump in the night but turn out to be the cat.

This really was a poorly thought out part of the curriculum.

Harry slipped away before Remus could ask him about the clouds and he reminded himself to ask the boy later, or have Sirius do it. He wasn't too concerned about the Patil girl's wholly predictable fear of snakes, or Dean Thomas' little nightmare. Even Hermione Granger's fear of bad marks was not surprising. Harry, however… Harry's clouds worried him and Harry wasn't just a student. Harry was as close to a son as he ever hoped to have.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco found Hermione crying in the girl's toilet on the third floor. She'd curled into a ball against the wall and had her face down over her knees. He pushed the door closed behind him, thankful the floor wasn't flooded with the angry outpourings of the resident haunt, and sat next to her, his bag at his side.

"Go away," she sniffled.

"You kidding?" he asked her. "Now I have a good excuse for not having to face that thing myself." He reached a hand over and took her fingers in his. "Stupid lesson," he said. "I think."

"Me too," she said. She twined her fingers through his but didn't pick her face up and her words were muffled into her robes. "And Lavender laughed."

"Oh, well, she's a stupid bint," Draco said. "Who cares what she thinks? I bet she's afraid of something like running out of eyeshadow." He used his free hand to fish around in his bag and pull the stuffed animal from the very bottom. He tucked it into a tiny space in the ball that was Hermione and she hiccouphed.

"You have your otter?" she asked.

Draco considered telling her that that was obvious but decided against it. He hated for anyone to know he still carried one of them around with him all day; if Lavender Brown laughed at Hermione for being afraid of bad marks he could imagine how loud her guffaw would be at the discovery that Draco Malfoy carried a stuffie with him everywhere. He just had dreams that were awful. He'd dream of blood and screams or, worse, some kind of nothingness that was just absolute fear, and whenever he had those dreams they'd linger with him all day. The otter wasn't quite right, none of them were, but it chased away the darkness better than anything else he'd found. He'd been terrified that he'd take his turn with the boggart and it would be that formless, awful fear swirling out of the cupboard and making the whole room shadowed until he couldn't breathe and couldn't even make himself wake up. "Yeah," he said. "You can hold him though."

"Thanks," she said, and they sat there together on the cold tile floor, fingers entwined, and Hermione's damp cheek pressed into his stuffed toy, until it was time for dinner.

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - I am aware I've swapped Padma and Parvati's boggarts. Perhaps they sometimes take one another's places in classes and Parvati did not wish to do this one._**

 ** _Thank you to Shayalonnie, who alpha reads this in bitty, annoying pieces and to turbulenthandholding, who beta read the whole thing and helped me conceal punctuation sloppiness!_**


	32. Chapter 32 (The Full Moon)

Harry Potter had a knack for not being found. Remus has known this when the boy was a toddler and had managed to co-opt Kreacher into helping him play hide and not eat the vegetables and he remembered that now as he tried to track the boy down to ask him about the clouds.

Why couldn't the boy have been afraid of something simple? Bugs. Why couldn't he have been afraid of bugs?

Remus looked for Harry between classes and grading and avoiding conflicts with Severus, who had taken to making rather pointed commentary in the staff room about how he was dog tired, or over the moon at some article in the _Prophet._ It was all Remus could do to keep from snapping, "Everybody on the staff knows, Snivellus. Grow up." Instead he railed at length to Sirius over the floo at night. "It's like he's still fourteen," he said one night. "I'm starting to really hate him."

"I've always really hated him," Sirius said. "Welcome to the unconflicted club. Whinging little bastard. Needs to take a bath." Sirius, however, didn't want to hear about Snape. Mostly he wanted to wax poetically about Elora Zabini, who had captured his heart - or at least his dick - as no woman had before. Remus rolled his eyes at all the detailed and uninteresting commentary and hoped Elora had no illusions about the man she thought she could fool. It did amuse him, even as he got more and more tense at Severus Snape's gibes, to watch Narcissa get increasingly worried that this time Sirius meant it and had really fallen in love.

Remus had no worries at all on that score.

Sirius never meant it about women. He never had.

Harry, however, meant it about staying out of reach and before he could corner the boy and demand to know what was going on with the clouds it was the full moon and he choked down the potion, locked himself in the Shrieking Shack, and prepared to endure his own personal hell again.

Not, of course, that you ever could prepare for that.

At least he knew Sirius would make sure there was chocolate in his room when he staggered back up the castle to sleep off the results of his unwilling transformation. He didn't know how he'd live without Sirius. What his life would have been like if Sirius had gone to Azkaban after James' death didn't bear thinking about so Remus didn't. He just sat in a shack alone and watched his greatest fear rise into the sky.

. . . . . . . . . .

When the Gryffindors filed into Defense Against the Dark Arts to say they were displeased to see Severus Snape in place of Remus Lupin would be understating the matter. Remus was wildly popular with students. His office was always open and always stocked with tea and chocolate. He listened to long diatribes about how _hard_ school was and how _mean_ parents were and how _unfair_ things were without saying a word other than to offer more chocolate. He overlooked mischief of all sorts and seemed to fight to not encourage the worst of the troublemakers Snape, on the other hand, was demanding and rude. He took points from Gryffindor if anyone blinked wrong, and his grading was brutal.

"Turn to page 394," he intoned as they sat down.

Hermione was the first to object. She thrust her hand into the air and didn't wait to be called on. "That's not where we are," she said. "We've just finished up Red Caps and we're on - "

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," Snape sneered. "I was unaware that in addition to being an insufferable know-it-all you were also in charge of designing the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. _Turn to page 394._ "

Draco opened the book, looked at the heading of the chapter. _The Werewolf,_ and turned to Harry in horror. Harry had already seen the reading and was glaring at Snape in a way that suggested the man's office would shortly be filled with something unpleasant.

"She's right," Parvati said. "We aren't _at_ werewolves yet. We're still at - "

" _Be silent,"_ Snape hissed. "You are woefully behind if in your third year at this school you are still struggling to identify Red Caps and Boggarts and… what is it, Longbottom? Do you plan to stammer out an objection to my plan for the class as well."

Neville lowered his hand and said, his voice far less shaky than it usually was when faced with the looming Potions' professor, "This isn't about the assignment. It's more of an ethics question about - "

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape said, "Do not waste my time with this kind of nonsense, Longbottom. If you are not able to read the text, I'm sure Miss Granger will be happy to hiss the answers in your ear; we all know that without someone else helping you along you're worthless."

"That's not fair," Ron Weasley said in shock. "You can't just say that about - "

"And there will be more points taken if you do not open your books and read in utter silence for the remainder of the class." Snape swept to the rear of the room and added, "Two rolls of parchment on how to identify and kill werewolves by the next class, please."

"He assigned that on purpose," Hermione hissed as she, Draco, Harry and Neville left the room as the class ended. "He _knows_."

"He's a fucking arsehole," Harry said. "I say we find a way to get him."

"I agree," Neville said. "He can't be trusted, that's for sure." He looked back at the classroom. "What a wanker."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville met Pansy by the one the endless, unmonitored side doors that led in and out of the castle. He held up a basket filled with goodies he'd teased the elves into giving him and said, "Ready to skip the Quidditch game?"

She grinned and the pair of them hid themselves away behind a stone outbuilding used to store old terra cotta pots, soil, and packets of seeds. The shouts and cheers of the rest of the student body carried across the air as the two of them dined on crisps and sandwiches and, wonder of wonders, Butterbeer. "How did you get the elves to give you all of this?" Pansy asked in wonder.

"I can be very persuasive," Neville said. He set his drink down and bit his lip as he looked at her. "Could I persuade you to kiss me?"

Pansy tossed her short hair in a gesture that looked more nervous that sassy but said, "Yes."

Neville scooted closer and leaned into her. She smelled of shampoo and tasted like crisps and Butterbeer and a thought that didn't even seem like his own flickered in the back of his mind, noting how much he liked taking her from Harry Potter.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry, Draco, and Hermione waited after their next Defense Against the Dark Arts class to talk to the returned Remus Lupin. He looked pale and tired, the way he always did after a transformation, and had spent the whole of the class drinking what most students probably assumed was tea or coffee but what Harry knew was chocolate. Remus always drank chocolate after a full moon.

"He assigned that horrible essay on purpose!" Hermione burst out as soon as the door closed and the last student left the room. "How to identify and kill… he wanted everyone to know you're a - "

She stopped, uncertain whether it was acceptable to say the word aloud, or whether Professor Lupin even wanted her to know.

He smiled at her, the expression tired, kind, and a little amused. "Werewolf?" he asked. When she nodded he chucked her under the chin and said, "The staff all know, Miss Granger. It's fine, I assure you. And, unlike you, most students are not attentive enough to their assignments to consider that a teacher they don't care for might be sending them some kind of secret message."

As a teacher, he almost hoped more of the students would have paid close enough attention to the timing of his 'illness' and Snape's assignment and put the pieces together. As the monster they'd be scared of if they had, he found himself grateful for adolescent indifference.

"He's a right rotting bastard," Harry said.

"Language," Lupin said mildly.

Harry didn't look at all abashed by the reprimand. "I've heard Dad say worse," he said. "I've heard him say worse _about_ Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Lupin said, unable to deny the boy's claim because Sirius could be downright inventive in his choice of verbiage. "You gain nothing by denying the man his proper title and merely make yourself look petty."

Harry's sullen look suggested that he had no problem being petty, especially when it came to Professor Snape. Hermione's face wavered between looking properly offended by Harry's vulgarity and appreciative of it. "He could take points," she said at last. "If he heard you, I mean. Don't, Harry."

Remus tried not to laugh at her concern for house points. The girl could be so earnest sometimes.

Draco just had his arms crossed as he glared at all of them as though one of them were somehow to blame for Professor Snape's assignment. He resented Professor Snape's attempt to out his kind-of-uncle and would have even if he'd liked the man. He didn't like him, however. Severus Snape was one of his father's less appealing friends. He came to the house and skulked, actually skulked like a character in a bad radio show, and loomed and had always ignored Draco and Harry even when they were in the room, rather like they were disagreeable pets he was determined to avoid. Even Greg Goyle's awful father, who liked to make jokes that made his mother grit her teeth, and which he'd been told to never, _ever_ repeat to anyone, always asked how he was doing and slipped him a bit of candy and whispered he wasn't to tell his mum because Narcissa never liked him. "He _is_ a bastard," he said and Remus Lupin sighed.

"It's poorly done of you to impugn his ancestry, Draco," he said. "First, I'm quite sure his parents were married, and, second, the man has reasons to dislike me."

"So what?" Hermione demanded. "I have reasons to dislike Blaise Zabini but you don't see me trying to reveal his biggest secret or ruin his life!"

"She has a point," Draco said. "And Blaise is another bastard."

"I appreciate your concern," Remus said, "But, trust me children, I can handle Severus."

Harry thrust out his lower jaw in a way that, historically, boded trouble and Remus attempted a diversionary tactic. "However, speaking of Blaise Zabini," he began, and all three children groaned. "As you may have noticed, Harry, Sirius has been chasing about the boy's mother like a dog on the prowl." He stopped and seemed momentarily far too amused for his little joke.

"So?" Harry asked sullenly.

"Well, Draco's mum suggested that he have both her and her delightful son over to Grimmauld Place for a party over the Christmas holiday and - "

"Delightful?" Hermione said in shock. " _Delightful?!_ Has she ever _met_ Blaise Zabini?"

"Only briefly," Remus admitted.

"Wait." Harry crossed his arms in a near perfect mirror of Draco. "We're going to have a party, at our house, over the holiday, with _Zabini_? I have to be nice to _Zabini_ on what is supposed to be my _break?_ This was _Mum's_ idea?"

Remus hadn't thought the idea was especially clever to begin with. It seemed like it would go over about as well as forcing James and Severus together at a social event back in their own youth would have. Part of him wanted to floo Sirius that very night and tell him to cancel the party and just take the wretched woman out to a fancy dinner but another very large part of him rather looked forward to this inevitable disaster. They were just children, and the adults would be there, so it couldn't get too out of hand. With that thought in mind he smiled at Hermione. "We'd love to have you join us, Miss Granger. I'm afraid it will be a small event, just Draco, Harry, and young Mr. Zabini, but you and the boys do seem to be joined at the hip, as it were, and it would seem odd to not have you there."

Hermione fidgeted a moment before saying, "I have to ask my parents, of course, but I'm sure they'll say yes. They've met Harry, so it should be okay."

"That's great," Remus said. He turned to Harry. "There was one thing I'd like to ask you about, Harry, if you have time." Draco and Hermione both took the hint and, mumbling they'd see Harry later, fled the room leaving their friend face to face with the guardian he'd been avoiding since the boggart lesson.

Harry began edging toward the door. "I think I have to get to my next class, Professor," he said. "I know you don't want me to be late."

Remus was about to say he could write the boy a pass,that it would be fine, but Harry had already darted away. "Okay, Harry," Remus said. "If you really don't want to talk to me, that's fine."

It wasn't fine, though. It hurt his heart to see the boy he'd raised from the day Minerva McGonagall had handed him and Sirius a baby and told them it was time to grow up running off to avoid talking to him. He remembered Lily holding the baby and James panicking at the delivery. Hadn't that been yesterday? "I knew you'd grow up," he murmured. "I just didn't think it would happen so fast."

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Thank you, as always, to Shayalonnie, who reads everything and "Remus-checked" this for me._**


	33. Chapter 33 (The Christmas Party)

Hermione handed off the host gift she'd brought for Professor Lupin and Mr. Black with nerves churning in her stomach. It was weird to socialize at the house of a professor even if it was a holiday party for one of your best friends. She brushed against curtains closed over something in the front hall as she passed them on her way into the house and Sirius Black lunged forward and held them closed.

"Portrait of my mother" he said by way of explanation. "Awful woman. As long as we keep the curtains drawn she stays quiet, but as soon as they open she starts to shriek like a banshee in heat."

Hermione blinked at him. She knew Harry wasn't related to his foster-father in any but the odd, distant way all Pureblood wizards seemed to be related to one another. She supposed Harry's father and Sirius Black had probably been cousins of some sort or another. Given that, the resemblance between father and son was uncanny. It wasn't just the dark hair that fell into Sirius Black's eyes in much the same way Harry's own hair was endlessly untamed, it was the glint of mischief that sparkled in those eyes. It made their faces seem like unexpected mirrors of one another.

"I don't think banshees have a heat cycle," Hermione said as she trailed after him through the dark-paneled entry into a mostly inviting room. Several more portraits were curtained, but a Christmas tree stood in one corner glowing with fairy lights and baskets of crackers sat under it. A table had been set out, draped in a pretty red cloth, and covered in Christmas foods, and Hermione's spirits soared when she spotted Draco helping himself to a plate of pudding.

"Quite right, Hermione."

She nearly jumped when she heard Remus Lupin. He smiled apologetically at how he'd startled her and said, "Banshees don't have a heat cycle, I mean. Quite up to your usual standard." He looked over at Sirius. "Miss Granger is one of the best students in her year."

Sirius Black grinned at her. "But how many detentions has she gotten?"

"None!" Hermione said, looking from Draco to Harry's dad in shock.

"Then she's not having any fun," Sirius said. "Harry, you need to get your friends to live a little."

Remus sighed and made a show of shoving Sirius out of the room. "You kids have fun," he said. "Elora's late, but I expect she and her boy'll be here soon and then you'll have a fourth for whatever shenanigans you want to get up to."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered as the adults left the room and the three friends looked at one another in dismay.

"No one else is coming?" Hermione asked, her voice a squeak. "It's just us and Zabini?"

"Right?" said Draco. "You know how Neville's grandmother is and Pansy's got some thing with some aunt or other she had to go to. Ugh." He began piling biscuits and sliced fruit onto another plate and right as Harry opened his mouth to tease about loading up not one but two plates, Draco handed the second plate off to Hermione. She bit her lip and mumbled thanks and Draco flopped down onto one of the dark green leather couches and jerked his head to indicate she should sit next to him.

"If my dad marries his mum, I'm running away," Harry said glumly. He dumped his body into a chair that matched the couch and hooked a foot over one arm. "My life would be over."

That was how Blaise Zabini found them. There was the sound of a scuffle at the front door, followed by a quickly muffled shriek about werewolves defiling the house of someone's father, and then their least favorite classmate was effectively shoved into the room with them, the door shut quickly behind him.

The three friends eyed Blaise Zabini from where they sat.

He stood, framed by the elaborate trim of the doorway, and scowled back with his arms crossed.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Harry drawled.

"Or the whore," Draco muttered, mostly but not entirely under his breath. Hermione hissed at him in disapproval and he gave her his best innocent look. "Just clearing my throat," he said.

Hermione tried. "How's your holiday been?" she asked.

"Better before today," Blaise said. He still hadn't moved from where he stood and an observant person might have noticed a slight tremble of his jaw.

"There's a pretty good spread of food," Hermione said.

"Werewolf chow?" Blaise asked. "That's what I would expect given who put it out and all."

"I think my mum handled the food," Draco said. "Unlike some mothers, she has interests beyond her -"

Hermione hit him on the arm and his plate of pudding almost fell into his lap and he was distracted by the need to steady the plate and he hissed, "What was that for?" at Hermione.

"Mudbloods don't know how to behave," Blaise said, his lips still curled into a mask of disdain. "I hope you didn't touch any of the food, Granger. I wouldn't want to risk contamination."

Hermione's brief flare of sympathy died away and she popped a biscuit in her mouth and chewed it, considered her options, and finally turned away from Blaise and, after swallowing, asked Harry how Quidditch was going. Harry looked briefly startled - Hermione never wanted to hear about Quidditch - but after a quick look at Blaise he launched into an elaborate story of a practice incident that had left him covered in mud, with a broken wrist, and unable to stop laughing despite the pain.

Blaise hesitated as the three talked, moving from Quidditch to tales of the Weasley Twins' hijinks to questions about whether Pansy was serious about Neville or just jerking him around, and at last he ventured into the room and grabbed a plate. He filled it and sat as far from the trio as he could and began to eat slowly, his shoulders hunched over. He didn't say anything else until Harry looked over and, just as Blaise out a forkful of pudding into his mouth, said, "Didn't you spit in that, Hermione?"

Hermione almost spit out the apple slice she'd been chewing on and Draco snickered.

"Very funny," Blaise said. He set his plate on the table next to his seat and said, "You still planning to try to save that stupid Hippogriff, Malfoy?"

The three friends looked at one another, suddenly unsure what to say. Sensing a shift in who had the upper hand, Blaise pressed on. "We laugh about that all the time in Slytherin. Maybe stupid Pansy didn't tell you, but everyone thinks it's hilarious you want to try to save the ugly chicken."

"He didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said.

Blaise laughed derisively. "He tried to kill your boyfriend, you stupid Mudblood. Real people consider that 'something wrong'."

"He did nothing outside his nature," Hermione corrected herself.

"So if a werewolf mauled him, you'd be just fine with that because, hey, it's his nature," Blaise asked. Hermione stirred and Blaise smirked even more broadly at her. "Maybe you should consider dating people worth your time, Malfoy. I think your little friend doesn't care about you quite as much as you think she does."

Draco clenched his fists but didn't move from the couch where he sat. Hermione, however, stood up and took an angry step toward Blaise.

"He's not worth it," Draco hissed at her.

Blaise stretched his feet out and crossed his hands behind his head and pushed harder as Hermione crossed the room, her arms rigid at her side. "Doesn't really matter if the chicken gets the axe anyway. The real problem is that idiot, Hagrid. I bet he cries when he gets fired. I can't wait to see -"

That was when she hit him. The slap was loud in the room and Blaise gaped at her, his hand going to his stinging cheek in shock. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been physical retaliation.

"Say it again," Hermione invited him. "You're a worthless, spineless coward, Zabini, so come on. Say it again."

"Three on one?" he sneered. "Who's the coward here?"

"You think I can't take you by myself?" she demanded.

He swung a fist at her stomach and she danced out of the way. Blaise stood up and she jabbed an elbow toward him and he only mostly dodged it. He swung another fist at her face and she head butted him and the pair ended up on the floor, neither skilled at fighting, both swinging wildly as they rolled. Hermione managed to land one punch on his right eye and Blaise scraped his fingernails over her cheek, but that was the only real damage either did before Draco and Harry intervened and each grabbed a combatant and pulled them apart. Harry grabbed Blaise and twisted the boy's arms behind his back in a way he'd learned from Sirius that was as effective in subduing an opponent as Sirius had said it would be. Draco just grabbed Hermione's shoulder and pulled her away, his arm wrapped around her in what was really an embrace.

"I hate you," Blaise spit out as he tried to yank himself out of Harry's clutches. "Your type comes into our world and think you belong here and everyone just loves you."

"Bastard," Hermione said. She'd stopped trying to make contact with Blaise as soon as Draco had her and now she just stood trying to control her breathing and leaning against Draco. "You're just a... a... a pig to everyone because you think you're so superior. Well, you're not. You're just another stupid, ugly boy who thinks the world owes him something because of his oh-so-precious mother."

"Bitch." Zabini was still trying to yank himself free of Harry as something glittered in the corners of his eyes. "Don't talk about my mum. Don't you ever talk about my mum, none of you. You're not the one who got shoved into a room of... just because she wants to get married again so I have to pretend to like you... you... you arseholes."

Hermione crossed her arms. "We're the arseholes?" she asked. "Who came in here itching to pick a fight?"

"What would you have done?" Blaise demanded. "If it was you dumped in with me and Greg and Vince and told not to muck this up for mummy?" He finally wrenched his arms free of Harry and stalked away from all of them, returning to the table where he began to assemble another plate of food. "Which ones didn't you spit in, Granger?"

She looked from Harry to Draco, then over at the back of the boy piling kiwis and carrots onto his plate. He hadn't bothered to straighten his shirt and it was still twisted on his slight frame after their tussle. "I didn't spit in any of it," she said softly.

"Good," he said.

"Do you have any exploding snap cards?" Hermione asked Harry.

"I'm shite at that game," Draco objected. The rest of them ignored him and Harry fetched a deck from a shelf tucked behind the tree and began dealing.

When Elora came to fetch her son, Sirius' arm was draped about her shoulders. Blaise and Harry exchanged looks of mutually agreed upon disgust across the card table at that sight while Elora made cooing noises that all the children had got along so well, it was as if they were already family. "Just look at them, Sirius, playing a cute little game."

Sirius looked at the black eye blossoming on Blaise Zabini's handsome face and the red scratches down one of Hermione's cheeks, then looked back at the beautiful woman at his side. She had turned and was rummaging through her giant purse to find her wand so she and Blaise could apparate home. Sirius took his arm off her shoulder and studied the children again. Harry flashed his foster father his very best guileless smile and Sirius closed his eyes. Sometimes Harry's expressions brought James too painfully to mind and he'd seen that look on his best friend's face too many times, usually as they were confronted by Minerva McGonagall after doing something particularly ill-advised. The crackers had all been opened and he'd seen a pile of innocuous toys next to each of the four where they sat, the food had been eaten, and, apparently, there'd been a fight.

He opened his eyes again. "Did you children have fun?" he asked.

"I won three rounds of Exploding Snap," Hermione said.

"She cheats," Blaise said.

"Come, Blaise," Elora said. The boy pushed his chair back, gathered up his collection of trinkets from the crackers, and obediently moved to his mother's side. If anyone expected her to ask about the bruise on his face they were disappointed because she simply kissed Sirius on the cheek, reminded him they had a date the following Friday, and let him escort her to the front door, all without looking at her son.

When Sirius returned he flopped down into a chair and eyed Hermione. He touched his own cheek while looking and hers and asked, "Should I ask about the other guy?"

Her smile was as impenetrable as Harry's had been. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.

"None of you has anything you wish to tell me?"

There was a long pause until Harry said, "No. Why?"

. . . . . . . . . . .

"What do you think?"

Remus snorted and threw a wadded up sheet torn from the Daily Prophet at Sirius. "You're an idiot," he said. "What would you have done if we'd been forced to socialize with Snivellus at that age?"

Sirius slouched lower in his chair in the kitchen. They'd sent Draco home with Narcissa, who had taken one look at Hermione, tsked, and healed the scratches on her face with a quick charm. She'd not asked how the party had gone, but she'd looked even more self-satisfied than usual, and Sirius had squirmed under the weight of her smug smile. Damn his cousin for being right, as usual.

"She didn't even notice his black eye," Sirius said.

Remus shrugged. He'd already formed his opinion of Elora Zabini.

"The kids seemed to work it out, though," Sirius continued. "Better than we would have with Snivvy."

"Harry's a good kid," Remus said. "Better than either of us were."

Sirius snorted in agreement. "Bed?" he asked. Hosting a party for scrapping kids and one self-absorbed, beautiful mother had been exhausting than he'd anticipated and he felt drained of everything.

"Sure," Remus said, and they headed up the dark staircase together, stopping to look in at Harry. He was asleep in the room filled with more things than any child needed, Quidditch posters on the wall, one of his arms flung over his head and blankets hanging to the floor.

Sirius sighed and went into the room to pull the covers back over the boy. He opened his eyes and mumbled, "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Harry," Sirius said, and leaned down to brush his lips across the boy's forehead.

"Don't like Zabini's mum," Harry added.

"I don't think I do either," Sirius said. "Go to sleep, Harry."

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Much love to the people who continue to support this fic. Your kind words and encouragement are directly responsible for this update._**


	34. Chapter 34

The months after the Christmas holiday seemed to pass in a spinning blur. Neville and Pansy had openly become a couple and could be spotted holding hands as he walked her to her classes, carrying her books in a gesture of courtesy so old fashioned and quaint Ron laughed at him for it. "You think she's not capable of managing her own Astronomy book?" he asked one day in the Gryffindor common room after spotting the pair. "She could smash that thing over your head and take you out - boom - with one blow. You have no idea how dangerous books can be."

Neville just shrugged. "It makes her feel special," he said. "I'm the one getting to snog a girl behind the castle while you're the one in here jerking off to magazines you stole from your brothers. You don't lose anything by being courteous, Ron."

Ron turned red but snorted to cover his embarrassment. "It's like you're from 1940 or something, I swear."

"Lay off," Hermione said. "Maybe his gran raised him to be polite." Draco tucked an arm around her where they sat on the couch as she said, "You wouldn't break down and die, Ron, if you were a little politer."

"You wouldn't break down and die," he mimicked her in a high-pitched voice. "Honestly, Hermione, you sound like my mum."

"Maybe you should listen to her," Hermione suggested. She ran a hand along the back of her orange cat, who purred with a deep rumble before reaching a paw out to try to swipe at Neville. "Stop that," she said. "You be a good cat!"

Crookshanks apparently didn't care for being told to do anything, much less be a good cat. With a hiss, he jumped down, and marched, tail straight up in the air, toward the boys' dormitory. He was a cat with destruction and mayhem on his mind. Hermione muttered and ran after him, scooping him up just before he passed beyond the wards into the corridor where she couldn't follow. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Ron. "He just keeps going after your rat. I really don't know why."

"Stupid cat," Ron said. "Wish he had some of Neville's old-fashioned manners."

Blaise Zabini adopted something resembling old-fashioned manners and stopped seeking Harry out to harass him. His mother and Sirius had stopped seeing one another after the winter holiday and, if Blaise got an owl from Sirius telling him he was welcome to come by any time he needed a place to go, Blaise didn't mention it to anyone. He did tuck the parchment away inside a book and sometimes, after an afternoon spent sneering at other students with Crabbe and Goyle, he'd go to his room and reread it in the privacy of his own, curtained bed.

The Ministry held a hearing for Buckbeak and, as Draco knew would happen, the creature was ruled to be too dangerous to be allowed to live. Dumbledore filed an appeal, but the execution was scheduled for the spring anyway. No one realistically expected the appeal to go any way but how the Malfoys wanted it. The animal had hurt their son and they'd called in favors to make sure it died. When the news came back to the school, Harry kicked at the wall and muttered it wasn't fair, that they had to do something. Draco demanded to know what and Harry had thrust out his lower lip and admitted he didn't know but he'd think of something.

"We could rescue it," Hermione said. Draco and Harry both looked at her. "It would be… like an act of protest," she said. "Civil disobedience. It's wrong for an animal to be put down just because it behaved in a way that's, uh, natural to its nature."

She avoided looking at Crookshanks, whose lifelong goal to destroy Ron's rat was, she continued to insist, just the nature of a cat. Cats ate rats. Hippogriffs got offended.

"How?" Draco demanded.

"Sneak over to where that teacher has it chained up and just break the chain?" she suggested. "They fly. It can fly away."

"No good," Draco said. "They're herd animals. Unless we take it somewhere and keep it confined, it'll just return to the herd."

"That's stupid," Hermione said. Draco agreed, but they were at an impasse and so they trudged from class to class as winter turned to spring and were unable to come up with any plan more cogent than it would be a good idea to free the hippogriff before the Ministry goons put it to death.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Harry." Remus cornered the boy after class and put his own body between his almost-child and the door. "We need to talk."

Harry slung his bag over his shoulder. "Why?" he asked. "I'm doing fine in my classes. Pansy dumped me for Neville, but that was last fall and it's not like I'm crying myself to sleep over it."

"The boggart," Remus said. "It worries me. And I considered that you might have lots of reasons to have some pretty nasty fears so I thought I could teach you a trick. It is magic quite a few steps beyond the curriculum, but - "

"More school work?" Harry asked. The idea didn't seem to fill him with glee.

"Bit of an extra-curricular, really," Remus said. "What do you know about the Patronus Charm?"

"Nothing," Harry said, but he eased his way down into a seat. "What's it do?"

Remus pulled a chair up and began to talk about Dementors. Harry shivered at the idea of them and protested he'd not likely ever see one, but Remus persisted. They were right useful, he said, and focusing on things that would conjure joy might help him stave off whatever fear fueled his boggart. When Remus added slyly that if he could learn to conjure one he'd be doing something students like that Blaise Zabini boy couldn't manage Harry began to lean forward, interested at last. Even many adult wizards couldn't produce a corporeal Patronus, Remus said, knowing he'd caught his fish and just needed to reel it in. James Potter had been able to, but -

"My dad could?" Harry asked.

"Your mum too," Remus said. "She had the prettiest doe you'd ever seen that would trot around the room, fearless." He smiled, a little sadly. "Just like Lily."

Harry looked down and scuffed a toe of his shoe along the stone floor and Remus had to restrain himself from telling the boy not to do that, that was how he wore out every pair of shoes he owned. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and waited for Harry to respond. "Can Draco and Hermione come too?" he said at last. "I don't want to do it if they can't."

"You three are so close," Remus said. "Of course."

. . . . . . . .

"More lessons?" Draco was predictably not enthusiastic about that idea. "I was going to start flying with Ginny again now that the weather is getting less miserable." Hermione whipped a book out of her bag, turned to the index, found 'Patronus' and began to read. Her growing excitement at the opportunity to do extra work, harder work, however, would have fallen into the category of 'noncontagious', however, and Draco remained sullen.

By the end of the first Patronus lesson, even Hermione began to seem more than a little frustrated. It didn't go well. Remus managed to get his boggart to look like a Dementor, and though they all found the black robed floating figure terrifying, they were unable to make the charm work.

"You have to summon joy," Remus said. "What makes you happiest."

"Otters," Draco muttered. He waved his wand and said, "Otter, otter come and play, make the Patronus charm today."

"Your scansion's off," Hermione said.

He sent her a withering look.

"Why otters?" Remus asked. He knew, of course, of the boy's otter collection. The childhood Harry and Draco had spent running in and out of one another's homes meant all the adults knew about Draco's otters and Harry's penchant for mischief. They knew Draco had nightmares and didn't like the dark, and that Harry flew too fast and too high even when you told him not to. Remus had never asked why Draco Malfoy liked otters so much, though. He supposed if he'd ever thought about it, he would have assumed the child had had some unusually good experience at a zoo in toddlerhood.

Draco just shrugged. "Otters makes me happy," he said. "But there's no real reason why."

"Maybe try a more concrete memory?" Remus suggested.

Hermione didn't manage more than a wisp of silver smoke from the edge of her wand and if Harry's wand gave off a slightly thicker puff, it still didn't even begin to take shape and had no effect on the boggart Dementor.

. . . . . . . .

"Well, that was frustrating," Draco said later as they lay on their beds in their room. Neville and Ron were both out in the common room doing homework but after a fruitless session with Remus Lupin trying to conjure a Patronus, Harry and Draco had both decided they were too tired to do any more work. "Thanks for keeping me from spending the afternoon flying with Ginny or seeing if Hermione was interested in more kissing or, I don't know, organizing my bloody socks."

"Sorry," Harry said. He crossed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Remus has latched onto this idea and he can be relentlessly stubborn about things."

Draco grunted in acknowledgement of that.

"He's just worried about my boggart," Harry said.

"The clouds?" Draco asked. At Harry's sound of agreement, Draco groaned. "Why is he so hung up on that, anyway? Dean's hand thing was creepy as hell, but no one's tracking him down and making him do extra work because of it."

"He's just worried," Harry said.

Draco turned so he could look at his oldest friend across the room. Harry kept looking up as though the answers to any question he'd ever had could be found in the folds of the canopy above his bed. Draco suspected the fabric was more likely to hide dust. "What'd the clouds mean, anyway?" he asked. "Hermione's fear of bad grades was obvious enough, and Ron's spider thing pretty ordinary. But clouds?"

Harry sighed. "It's stupid," he said.

"Doubt it," Draco said, thinking of the formless nothing and screaming he sometimes heard in his dreams. He suspected darkness with screaming wouldn't seem as just soul-chillingly awful to anyone else. He could almost hear Ron saying, 'Bit of a cliche, don't you think?' to Lavender to try to get her to agree with him. "What are they?"

"It's just," Harry paused again and Draco waited for him to find the words. "When I was little, maybe five, some old lady patted me on the cheek when she heard I was an orphan and told me my parents were up in heaven looking down on me and to be a good boy so I didn't disappoint them."

Draco lifted his head so he could look at Harry more closely. Harry still stared up into the pleated red fabric and had a look of carefully constructed indifference on his face. "What a bitch," Draco said. "What a fucking _bitch_."

Harry let out a little laugh. "Mum would have a heart attack if she heard you," he said. "She thinks it's bad enough I talk like Sirius but if you start doing it, she might flip out."

" _Bitch_ ," Draco said again.

"I mean, I know they aren't really sitting on a cloud," Harry said, "but that's what got into my head when I was little. They were sitting on the clouds and if the cloud they were on drifted apart or something they'd fall and… I said it was stupid."

"'snot," Draco said.

"What's yours?" Harry asked.

Draco tried to put it into words. "It's… it's as if I stopped being," he said. "It's as if there's a door in front of me that leads to just not existing and I have to step through it."

"That's weird," Harry said.

"Also, screaming in the darkness."

"Less weird."

. . . . . . . . . .

Greg Goyle went to shove at Hermione in the hall. "Stupid Mudblood," he said. "Go back to wherever it is Muggles come from."

"Leave her alone," Blaise said. Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe both stopped and looked at their leader with astonishment. "She's not worth it," he muttered at they stared at him. "Just a stupid Gryffindor. Might get her filth on your hands or something."

"Good point," Crabbe said. "Don't touch her, Greg. Who knows where she's been."

The pair lumbered off, laughing at their increasingly disgusting, if not especially creative, suggestions of where Muggle-born girls might go. Pig pens came up. So did garbage dumps. Blaise watched them walk away and for a moment open contempt spread across his face. Hermione looked at his dark, slanted eyes and said only, "I can handle them without your help, Zabini."

"I know," Blaise said. He touched his fingers to his skin as if remembering how well she could take care of herself and added, almost involuntarily, "Pigs. Might serve them right."

"They're your friends," Hermione said, half a challenge, half an accusation.

He snorted at that. "I don't have friends, Granger," he said. He forced a cocky smirk back onto his face. "I think I'll go back to the Slytherin common room and let Daphne fawn on me for a bit. That always perks me up."

"Gross," Hermione said. She hitched her schoolbag higher on her shoulder. "You're the pig."

Blaise waggled his fingers at her in mockery and she huffed off, stomping down the corridor as he watched her go.

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Thank you to shayalonnie and turbulenthandholding who alpha/beta read this._**


	35. Chapter 35

Draco flew straight at the ground, pulling up inches before he would have smashed the front of his broom into the pitch, and then landed on his feet. Ginny, who landed behind him, didn't seem to be impressed. "Keep that up and you'll smash that pointed nose," she said.

He laughed and flung an arm around her. "You're the best, Gin," he said.

She shrugged the arm off with an impatient gesture but he went on, smugly, "Too bad you'll never be able to be Seeker. You'd be great at it, but with Harry and I both in Gryffindor, you'll just never be quite good enough."

The look she gave him would have frightened a wiser man. "So sure of that?" she asked. "Maybe you shouldn't be."

Draco grinned at her. "You coming over this summer?"

She rolled her eyes because the answer to that was obvious. Narcissa Malfoy had a holiday planned for all of Draco's friends that included an open invitation to Malfoy Manor and everyone knew there'd be enough food and games to keep them all happy. Molly Weasley had been wary at first, but Sirius and Remus had lounged about on her couches and told her to enjoy getting her two youngest out from underfoot. "Let them go plague Cissa," Sirius had said. "You'll get peace and quiet and she'll get to pretend she has enough kids to start a Quiddditch team, which is all she's ever really wanted."

Molly had snorted at the idea Narcissa Malfoy would ever be so simple, but she'd acquiesced and Ginny and Ron both planned to Floo over to spend much of their summer holiday with Draco. "It'll be fun," Draco said. He was already anticipating the end of classes and the start of eating cakes and crisps all day.

"It will," Ginny agreed. She smirked. "But be ready for me to smash that pointed nose into the ground as I outfly you."

"Never going to happen," Draco said.

They'd started to walk back toward the castle when Ginny said, "Draco, could I ask you something?"

"Sure," he said.

"Do you think Harry likes me?"

Draco looked at her with confusion because Harry liked everyone, with the exception of Blaise Zabini and his goons, and he could even manage to be civil to Blaise, at least since the dust up over Christmas. "Sure," he said.

"No." Ginny's face turned as red as her hair. "Does he _like me_ like me?"

"Oh." Draco made a face as he thought about that question. Harry'd been briefly interested in Pansy, a situation that had ended when Neville started sending her flowers and carrying her books, but Draco didn't think that had ever been anything serious. Harry certainly hadn't seemed to care when Pansy moved on. But he'd also never mentioned Ginny that Draco could recall. "I suppose?" he said, unwilling to disappoint his flying partner. "I could ask him?" he added when her face fell at his lukewarm response. He half hoped she'd say no. She didn't.

"That'd be great," she said. She gave him a quick, enthusiastic hug. "You're the best, Draco."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I'm the best," Draco mimicked to Neville later. He kicked at a tuft of spring grass. "Ugh. And now I have to go ask Harry whether he likes the girl."

Neville didn't seem especially sympathetic. "Do you think he does?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" Draco demanded. "You and Pansy are almost attached by now."

Neville gave him a measuring look that seemed too sly to be real. "We're only thirteen," he said. "I don't think I'm expected to marry the first girl I kiss."

"I will," Draco said.

"Yeah,"Neville said, "but you and Hermione are weird."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione sat under the shade of the tree, her feet curled under her, and a book in her hand.

"More dragons?"

She looked up to see Theo Nott loping toward her, his long legs, as usual, making him seem oddly graceless. When he flung himself down at her side and stretched those legs out into the mix of new spring grasses and brown scraps of the previous year she didn't even fight his attempt to pluck the book from her hand. He glanced at the somewhat lurid cover art, then flipped through the book. All he said when he went to hand it back to her was, "I think I'd recommend wearing more than that if you planned to fly on a dragon."

She shuddered. "I'm never going to do that."

"Fly on a dragon or dress like that?"

She glanced at the cover and laughed. "Either," she said. "I don't think dragons are available for riding, and if I tried to leave the house like that, my mum would kill me."

"Plus you hate to fly." Theo leaned back and grinned at her. He wasn't anywhere near the athlete Draco and Harry were, but, like all their friends, he found her ongoing resistance to even the simplest broom flight hilarious.

"I don't like heights," she said.

"Says the girl who lives in an actual tower," he said.

"That's different." Hermione said. "I don't really worry about falling off the tower."

Theo began to pull up some of the grass and worry it between his hands. "The thing's tomorrow," he said.

Hermione didn't respond but she didn't have to. The Malfoys had, as everyone had predicted they would, won every political round when it came to the hippogriff that had attacked Draco. The beast was scheduled to be destroyed at sunrise. She hated it. She hated it, Draco hated it, Harry hated it. Even Blaise Zabini had kept his mouth shut at the sight of the great, moping creature chained by the neck to the ground. Power was unjust, Hermione thought. Even power wielded by a woman she liked could be unjust. It wasn't fair.

"I wish we could stop it," she said.

"You could just let it go free?" Theo suggested. Hermione could tell he knew it was a bad idea but she was touched he at least tried to offer up something.

"It would just come back," she said. "They're herd creatures. They're lonely alone."

"If you had a place to take it," Theo said. "Someone you could leave it with that the Malfoys and the Ministry would never suspect." He plucked up another blade of grass. "Too bad you don't know anyone with a penchant for ignoring rules who might be persuaded to shelter the thing until they could find it a new herd. I mean, assuming you could fly it to them."

"Yeah," Hermione said. Then her eyes widened and she flung her arms around Theo and kissed his cheek. "Have I ever told you that you are the absolute best?" she asked.

"Not lately," he said, but she'd already grabbed her bag and was racing toward the castle, heedless of the book that tumbled off her lap and onto the ground. She didn't see Luna drift over to join Theo, didn't see the way the pair of them held hands and watched her run away, didn't see the smug look Luna gave Theo.

"I take it it worked," Luna said.

"Like magic," Theo said.

Luna picked up the paperback from the grass and looked at the cover. She squinched her nose up. "Armor that only covered that much of your body wouldn't be very effective," she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione cornered Draco, and Draco found Harry, and Harry's eyes began to sparkle with the delight that only the possibility of true mischief could bring to them. "That's _brilliant_ ," he said. "After dark?"

"Grab that cloak of yours," Draco said.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. Draco's snort of derision was answer enough. The very idea that Hermione, who avoided even brooms, would ride on a hippogriff was absurd. And so, after the sun had set and the gloaming had faded into true darkness, the pair of them snuck into the pen where Buckbeak sat, chained, and bowed toward the great beast. "We only have a little time until the moon rises," Harry said as quietly as he cold manage, "then it'll be like bloody noon out here it'll be so bright, so move it."

"Look," Draco said to Buckbeak, "I'm sure you don't like me, but we're here to fly you to a place you'll be safe, so would you _please_ let me on your back?"

Buckbeak tipped his head and regarded the boys and if thoughts could be said to flit across the eyes of a hippogriff, thoughts flitted and settled until the creature nodded, then pointed his beak to the chain. Draco snorted at that, the sound rude in the quiet night, and then almost jumped back in fear. Buckbeak blinked at him.

"I think he's laughing at you," Harry whispered.

"It's not funny," Draco hissed back.

"Just deal with the chain, you big loser," Harry said.

A quick flick of his wand and Draco, whose academic record was a tad better than Harry's, transfigured the chain into a long line of crocheted yard. A quick snip with a pair of scissors and Buckbeak was free. "Shall we?" Harry asked, though whether he was asking Draco or Buckbeak wasn't wholly clear. Buckbeak, however, dipped down so the boys could clamber up and, once they were settled, he rose into the sky as they bent down over his feathered neck.

As Buckbeak's wings pushed them higher and higher into the sky, Draco let out an involuntary whoop of joy. "This is amazing," he yelled to Harry.

"It's bloody brilliant is what it is," Harry yelled back. He leaned forward. "Do you know how to get to London?" he asked. The wind whipped his words away but Buckbeak must have understood him because he turned and began flying steadily southward.

"Hey, Harry?" Draco yelled as they flew on into the night.

"What?" Harry didn't turn to look at his friend lest the movement result in his falling. Almost all his concentration had to be used for staying on. Flying on a hippogriff might be brilliant, but it was also harder work than he had expected.

"Did you know Ginny Weasley has a crush on you?"

If Harry had a response, the night stole it.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Sirius." Remus stood in the doorway and waited for Sirius to move. When all the man did was groan and pull a pillow over his head, he repeated himself more loudly. "Sirius!"

"I'll do it tomorrow," Sirius muttered. Then, when that didn't make the person bothering him go away, he tried, "It wasn't me, Dorea, I swear. It was James."

"Close," Remus said. "But not quite right."

At that Sirius sat up, glanced at the dark window, then at Remus. "What the fuck?" he asked. "What time is it? Is something on fire?" He got visibly nervous at that idea. "If something's on fire, it's not my fault this time."

"Nothing's on fire," Remus said. "Though I think you owe me for coming home last night because we have a problem."

"Missed you," Sirius said. He brushed aside the idea of owing things. "Besides, our basement's more comfortable than that shack, and I know you'd rather have me around afterward than that prick, Snivvy. Can't whatever this is wait until morning and you're done?"

"Not really," Remus said.

That was when Harry poked his head around the corner. "You did say I could have a pet when I was older," he said.

Remus buried his face in his hands and began to rub at the bridge of his nose. "I need to go to the basement," he said. "Sirius, please find some way to handle this while I'm off being cursed."

Remus disappeared. "He's cutting it close," Sirius said, looking at the time. "He'd never have forgiven himself if you'd kept him from going somewhere safe to change, Harry. You know that."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He had the grace to look a little discomfited at that. "It's just… they were going to kill him at sunrise so we didn't have a lot of time."

"Kill _who_?" Sirius asked.

Draco's head peeked around the corner and at the sight of that blond hair Sirius sighed. "Cissa's going to kill me, isn't she?" he asked the pair. "What have you two done?"

It was the sight of Buckbeak, however, that drove Sirius to a laughing fit. He laughed until tears were coming out his eyes, he laughed until he could barely breathe, he laughed until he couldn't get another giggle, wheeze or chuckle out and then, wiping his eyes, said, "I'm so dead. She'll make it slow, too, but what a way to go. I think it'll be worth dying to know Cissa was thwarted, and by her own sons. Harry, you are the spitting image of your father some days."

Harry's smile at that would have dimmed the full moon as it pulled itself above the horizon.

. . . . . . . . .

"Then I took them back to school," Sirius said, passing the cup of hot chocolate over to Remus. The werewolf took it with a grateful smile and tried not to laugh as Sirius mimicked the way he'd tried to scold the boys and only managed to praise them. "Fortunately, I could use the Floo in your office and sneak them back in without anyone finding out, but now we have a hippogriff in Reg's old bedroom."

"I want to go back to bed," Remus said. "I'm exhausted. Teenage boys are exhausting, especially when they show up saying, 'I found it, can I keep it?'. I need to rest before I go back and deal with end of the year exams and Snape's endless gibes."

Sirius eyed him. "Are you too tired?" he asked.

"But Sirius," Remus said, "what if the hippogriff hears?"

Sirius laughed but before the pair could head back upstairs together, an owl flew through the open window, dropped a letter on the table, and hooted out an imperious demand for a treat.

 _I couldn't help but notice your Floo was activated last night. Since we all know you're off being 'ill', I worried that you had returned to attack students and investigated. Imagine my surprise when I found Harry Potter sneaking back toward Gryffindor Tower. He disappeared before I could question him, but rest assured I've alerted Dumbledore to the way you've allowed that boy to misuse your private Floo. Your colleague, Severus Snape_

"I hate that man," Remus said. "Merlin, he's such a fucking prick."

. . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N - Thank you to Shayalonnie, who alpha reads this for me.**


	36. Chapter 36 (Summer Holiday)

Narcissa pursed her lips as she looked at the children sprawled on the back lawn. Towels spread out over the grass were covered with bodies wearing swimming costumes that would have made her mother turn a furious shade of red. Some of them even made her wince. She'd cast three different sun protection spells over Draco and she doubted even that was enough. The urge to make him let her do one more almost overwhelmed her and she kept herself in check by force of will.

Sunburn wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a boy and friends mattered. He and Ginny had flown so fast and so high as they raced one another she'd muttered to Lucius that sometimes she wondered if the boy had a death wish imprinted on his very soul. Then he and Harry had been worse and she'd gone inside, unable to even pretend from her seat on the terrace that the pair of them didn't make her heart plummet. Two boys, and both daredevils. It was enough to make a woman take up drinking.

Lucius had made a pitcher of iced, fruited wine and that had helped settle her nerves enough to take a sip from her glass and sit while Lucius skimmed the most recent copy of The Daily Prophet and related bits he thought she might find interesting.

"I think Crouch has finally managed to get everything lined up for that tournament he's been working toward for years," Lucius said.

"That man," Narcissa said. She wasn't a fan. No one who sent his own son to prison, however much the lunatic might have deserved it, could be trusted. If you'd betray your own blood, what else were you capable of?

"Still no word on the hippogriff," he went on.

Narcissa looked out at Harry and Draco. "Fancy that," she said. She hadn't confronted the pair, or Sirius, for all that her cousin had shown up smirking, smelling of animal, and practically daring her to ask. There was something to be said for making a plan and carrying it out with enough nerve that no one discovered you. She'd also handed Draco a trowel and told him her roses needed weeding and she hoped he would fly through all the work without so much as a scratch. His eyes had gotten wide and he turned paler than she thought was possible.

She figured she'd scared an entire year of good behavior into him, and gotten her rose beds cleaned out as well. The pleasure of ringing a peal over Dumbledore's ears had helped alleviate her fury. Incompetent, she'd called him, and careless, and a menace. She'd made sure his office door had been open and that Greg Goyle had been waiting outside.

Greg would report it to his father, who would note that the Malfoys were still firmly in the anti-Dumbledore camp. If _that one_ did return, and she was sure he would, the news would reach his ears. She hoped it would help.

There was a feminine shriek of outrage from the assembled children and Narcissa looked up to see Hermione Granger, soaked to the skin, glaring at Draco who had a pitcher in his hands. Narcissa controlled her laughter. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of watching the pair of them move toward the kind of love that changed the world.

"Seven horcruxes," Lucius said softly. "And the Potter boy is one."

"We destroyed the diary," Narcissa said. "I need to go to Bella's vault and search for the cup again. And Sirius needs to pry that locket out of Kreacher's little hands before it's too late."

"Do you think we can trust Draco to find the diadem? I keep waiting for word from Minerva but so far, nothing."

Narcissa looked out at the children. Draco had his arms around Hermione and was swinging her around as she continued to shriek, this time in delight. "Let them be children a little longer," she said. "The storm will come soon enough."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione frowned. "But it's against the rules," she said. They'd been talking about practicing all afternoon, but with Narcissa and Lucius sitting up on the terrace pretending not to watch them they'd put it off. She wanted to work on her Patronus Charm. It maddened her that she just couldn't do it; she was used to being able to do all the magic.

"No one will know," Draco said. He'd flopped back down onto a crumpled and dirty towel with a drawing of an otter printed on it. "There's so much magic in this house they can't tell who does what. The underage trace depends on parents to enforce stuff and no one really does."

"My parents do," Ron said. He sounded put out. Molly Weasley was a stickler for no magic over the summer and made him do everything by hand.

"If your parents don't care, why did you have to weed all those rose beds by hand?" Theo asked.

"No reason," Draco muttered. He cast a quick glance up at the terrace as if to reassure himself that his mother wasn't still keeping an eye on the group.

"Punishment," Pansy said. She nudged at Theo with her foot. "Like the time my mum made me polish silver for hours after I decided to concoct we perfumes by mixing hers together."

"That was dumb," Harry said.

"Says the boy who talks to snakes," Pansy said.

"How is that relevant?" Hermione asked with a glare.

"Oh, leave her alone," Ron said. "At least she doesn't have some out of control cat who goes for my Scabbers."

"Are you really bringing that rat back to school again? How is it not dead yet?" Harry asked.

"I dunno," Ron said. "Scabbers just keeps going."

"Forget the stupid rat," Draco said. "Just try it if you want to, Hermione, no one will know."

She sighed, looked up at the place the adults weren't, then pulled her wand out of her bag. She whipped it in a circle as decisively as she could, said the spell, and waited for the usual nothing. Instead, an animal sprung out of the tip of her wand and looked around. It might not have been as solid as Remus Lupin's, and it might have faded away almost at once, but it was, without a doubt, a Patronus.

Harry looked at where the animal had been, looked at Draco, then looked at Hermione.

"You try it," Ginny said to Harry. "I bet you can do it too."

Harry almost wasn't paying attention to the charm because he kept looking from one friend to the other so he missed the stag that bounded out at first.

"You've got it!" Ginny said with delight. Harry's face broke into a wide smile as he looked at the beast that lifted its head and looked around.

"An otter," Draco said. He didn't even seem to notice that Harry had made one too, or that Theo was frowning at the charm no one had taught him and was trying to mimic it. "You're an otter."

Hermione cast a nervous glance back to the Manor, then tried it again. This time the otter that emerged seemed more solid and turned a few happy circles before fading away. She tucked her wand away, afraid to try it a third time lest it stop working, and looked at Draco. The playful boy who'd dumped water over her head and swung her around earlier was gone and the man staring at her looked almost haunted. His face flickered in front of her as her eyes watered for some reason she didn't want to examine too closely, and for a moment, through the blur of tears, she saw blood staining a haggard face that watched her with desperate hunger. Then it was her own Draco again, goofy, athletic and with no worry more serious than the occasional nightmare or afternoons spent weeding a garden for his mother, looking back at her.

"Hermione," he said. "An otter. That's brilliant."

. . . . . . . . . .

Blaise slouched down in the chair. He'd stopped trying to smile when his mum had set the cake down in front of him, patted him on the head, and disappeared. It wasn't even his birthday; he wished he could be one hundred percent sure she knew that. Crabbe and Goyle didn't care. They grabbed at slices of the bakery product and shoved them down their gullets.

"This sucks," he muttered. "I'm gone."

His friends - his _followers,_ because why pretend they were anything else? - blinked at him a few times but he knew they wouldn't question the way he skulked off to the floo, or the way he tossed in powder and stepped away. Blaise was an arsehole. Everyone knew it. Even his so-called friends. He could almost hear Greg turn to Vincent and say, "More cake for us."

Everything, as his mum said, was economics.

Or something.

When he stepped out into the parlour at Grimmauld Place he looked at the dark-haired man waiting for him, crossed his arms, and scowled. Sirius Black didn't react. He just handed over a bottle of butterbeer, tipped his head toward a chair, and settled down himself. "Having a good summer?" he asked.

Blaise snorted and the snort turned into a sob and somehow he was spewing out all the injustices of his life. He knew they were petty. Even as he heard himself say, "and then she _left,_ " he felt pathetic and he waited for Sirius to properly tell him off for being such a git.

Instead the man took a long swallow from his own bottle and said, "Not a contender for mother of the year, your mum." He glanced at Blaise, who didn't respond to that other than to sink lower in his seat, and added, "Why don't you head over to Draco's? Cissa'd welcome you."

"I don't think so," Blaise said. "We aren't friends."

"Could be," Sirius said.

But Blaise shook his head. He couldn't see that ever happening.

. . . . . . . . .

After the boy had flooed away, Remus came in and stood next to the worn chair. "Kid remind you of yourself?" he asked Sirius.

"Reg, maybe," Sirius said. "All pride and determination to make his mother love him."

"Sad," Remus said. He ran a hand through Sirius's curls. "You're a good man to reach out to him."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville set the diary aside and sighed. Summer was just so long and so boring. He'd spent more hours in the greenhouses than he would have thought possible even a year before. He'd appeased his gran's pointed inquiries into school without letting too much bitterness overtake him. She'd thought for years he was barely magical, a fat fool of a boy who would never be as good as her son, and now that he was getting excellent marks she wasn't happy with that either. She questioned whether they were really his. Had that Muggle-born girl been helping him? Why wasn't his Potions grade as good as the rest? There was no pleasing her.

He poked rather listlessly at his pile of books. He could read through them but he didn't see why it mattered. With the diary's help he could do everything already anyway, plus more.

He pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to write to that Ginny Weasley. At least talking to her would give him something to do. At least he could take something else from Harry Potter, though he still wasn't sure why that gave him such a feeling of satisfaction.

. . . . . . . . . .

Narcissa stood in the doorway of her son's room and smiled as he arranged the stuffed animals he'd collected since he was a toddler along a shelf. Big otter. Small otter. Blue otter. Row upon row of the things. "You never found the perfect one," she said as she watched him, charmed that her son still liked his stuffed animals even as he got ready to start his fourth year at Hogwarts.

He looked over at her with his grey eyes and said, "I have."

"Oh?" Narcissa asked.

"Mum," he began. "How old were you when you knew about Dad?"

"Older than you," she said. She wasn't sure whether to smile at the innocence of the question or cry. "But that doesn't mean you're too young to know. It's unusual, but you're an unusual boy and she's an unusual girl. You're still all children, of course, but your father and I would – will – support any choice you made."

"Your parents didn't… With Aunt Andromeda they…"

"I am not my mother," Narcissa said. "I am privy to information she never had, and I will not make the choices she made." She stepped over to him and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Family is the most important thing. No matter what happens. And, of course, I like her."

He flung his arms around her and she held on. He'd never let her go at two, but hugs had become rarer and rarer lately, and more precious for that. "I love you," she said. He was almost as tall as she was. He'd be taller soon. "Your father and I would do anything for you, Draco. Never forget that."

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Thank you for continuing to read along this little AU._**

 ** _If you are looking for other AU stories, consider, "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Ginevra" by DrSallySparrow. It's wonderful._**


	37. Chapter 37 (Start of 4th Year)

"Mum," Ron yelled. He'd spent the day packing and now it was time to go and he couldn't find Scabbers. "Where's my rat?"

Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten. She wished that stupid rat would die. "They have short lives," the man at the familiar store had assured he when the boys had been out of earshot. "Just a few years. Not like parrots that'll outlive you." She'd agreed to the rat thinking it wouldn't last, and the thing just kept going. You'd think it had drunk some immortality potion the way it's just kept on living it's abnormally long, unattractive, ratty life.

"Mum!" Ron yelled again.

"Ronald," she said. "It's time to go or we'll miss the train. If I find Scabbers, I'll get him up to you, but he was your responsibility."

She hoped the thing had run off and she'd never have to see it again. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione clapped her hands in delight. Fourth year had started with the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament they'd heard rumors about since the previous fall. Draco's mouth had gaped open as Victor Krum marched in and she'd rolled her eyes at his awe in seeing his Quidditch idol, but she caught his enthusiasm anyway. The Tournament itself was ridiculous of course. Who thought risking death for glory and fame was a good idea? But since none of them could participate, it promised to be a brilliant year with exchange students and parties, and she might even get Draco and Harry to stop ogling that poor Victor Krum.

Being stared at everywhere you went like that had to be awful, the poor man. As if being able to catch a ball were that important. She made the mistake of saying, "I don't see why he's such a big deal," and Ron almost hissed at her.

"Hermione," he said. "He's Victor Krum." He, Ginny, Draco and Harry then subjected her to more statistics than she'd realized any of them knew. Victor Krum caught balls. He caught them quickly. He caught them doing dramatic maneuvers out of the sky. He caught them doing tricks on a broom that, according to any rational understanding of physics, should have left him dead. She risked a glance over at the table where all the Durmstang students sat. He was very fit; she had to admit that.

At last she said, "I really don't care. You do know that, right?"

Ron glowered and Harry rolled his eyes but Draco just threw an arm around her shoulders. "As long as you care about me," he said.

"Merlin," Ron said. "Are they going to be like this all year?"

"They were most of the summer," Harry said. He nudged at Neville. "Do you think your Gran is ever going to let you spend the summer with us? We missed you."

"Doubt it," Neville said. "You know how she is about Draco's parents."

"Maybe we could spend some time at Harry's place?" Draco suggested, though the dark townhouse wasn't nearly as inviting as the acres of garden they could run and fly through at Malfoy Manor, and while Remus always had chocolate around, Sirius tended to eat the last of the crisps without noticing and there really just weren't snacks around. Even Kreacher couldn't put out a spread designed to tempt the way Narcissa Malfoy could. Still, if it meant Neville could go, they'd all camp out and play Exploding Snap in the parlours.

"That's okay," Neville said. "I kept busy practicing things, and Ginny wrote me almost every day."

"Not Pansy?" Harry asked, casting a glance over at the Slytherin table. Pansy was leaning forward, her chin in her hand, her eyes fixed on Victor Krum.

Neville shrugged. "Ginny and I just had more to say to each other."

"Does Pansy know?" Harry pressed.

"I didn't realize I had to get her permission to write to my friends," Neville said. His voice went hard and Harry jerked back and looked at Neville in some surprise. "Sorry," Neville said, looking down at the table. "Gran got on my case about Pansy and writing to a Slytherin and told me I should make friends in my own House."

"Except she won't let you come over to see us in the summer," Hermione said.

"Right," Neville said. He sounded bitter. "So I worked in the greenhouse with the plants and practiced magic when she wasn't looking because I didn't have much else to do, and wrote Ginny." He followed Harry's glance toward Pansy. "I don't think Pansy's going to miss me much."

"Do you really think she could get the attention of Victor Krum?" Ron asked. "I know you both liked her, but she's not very pretty and she's kind of mean."

"Maybe Krum isn't as shallow as you," Hermione said.

She turned her attention back to this year's speech right as Headmaster Dumbledore explained that no one underage could enter the Tournament but that anyone eligible who wished to should drop his name in the Goblet of Fire. Entering was a binding magical contract and whomever the cup selected would be obligated to participate so each student should think carefully before deciding to put his name in.

"Or her name," Lavender Brown said with a sniff. She and Hermione exchanged looks of female solidarity as Angelina, sitting up the table, declared she intended to enter.

"I wonder who will get picked to represent Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"We should put our names in," Harry said. His eyes began to sparkle. "Draco, We'll use the cloak. No one will catch us, and if it spit one of our names out it would be the best lark ever."

"Are you daft?" Hermione demanded. "First of all, they've got it warded against underage students. Second, it's meant for people older than you, and better at magic!"

"I'm just fine at magic," Draco said. He pouted at her and she smacked him on the side of the arm.

"You'er good at flying," she said. "And potions."

"And charms," he said. "I'm better than you are at charms, Hermione."

"You are not," she said in outrage, and they began to squabble, comparing solutions they'd had to different academic problems until Harry groaned as dramatically as he could manage.

"It's the rage of the swots," he said. "Do you two think you could turn your great, clever brains into – "

"No!" Hermione snapped. "You can't enter that stupid death trap of a contest."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco wrinkled his nose when Headmaster Dumbledore introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He looked from the old Auror to Harry. Harry looked as unhappy as he felt. For all that Remus had told them over and over again that he didn't mind being rather pointedly not asked to return for another year, both boys felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and resentment at his de facto firing. If they hadn't snuck the hippogriff away, if Draco hadn't gotten hurt to begin with, Remus would still have a job they both knew he'd loved.

He'd told them not to worry themselves about it. Snape would have found a way to get me out, he'd told them. He has reasons to be wary of what a werewolf can do. He's just trying to protect students. Protect you.

Neither Harry nor Draco believed that. The way Sirius had muttered, "The prick," under his breath has just confirmed for both boys that Snape was the real enemy.

"This new one looks nuts," Harry said, tipping his head toward the high table. Hermione made noises about how they shouldn't judge a man based on an eye patch or peg leg but when Draco asked if they were allowed to draw conclusions from the way the man kept scanning the room as if a Dark wizard might pounce on them from under a bench at any moment, she admitted he did seem a mite paranoid.

"And an alcoholic," she added with prim disapproval as their new professor pulled a flask from the pocket of his robes, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed what looked, even from across the room, to be a more than generous mouthful.

"Guess the wine's not strong enough," Harry said with a snigger. "Not when there could be a Death Eater in disguise right there at the high table."

Draco joined in the snickers that ran down the Gryffindor table at that idea. "Don't suppose we still have any pixies from the era of Lockhart we could loose in his office?" he asked.

Hermione looked a tad guilty as she muttered she might know where Hagrid kept things like that, and gleeful plans began to almost concoct themselves. Hogwarts may have decided to replace their favorite teacher with this loon, but they could exact a sort of petty revenge.

. . . . . . . . . .

Sirius tossed Narcissa the locket and she dropped it down the chute into the incinerator. An evil hiss of black smoke and a scream tore back up and both of them stepped back. "Nasty bit of work," Sirius said.

"Sounds like the peacocks," Narcissa said, brushing her hands against one another with as much vigor as her self-control would permit. Just touching that thing had made her want to soak in a bath for a week.

"The peacocks are also nasty," Sirius agreed.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Loyalty," the creature in the chair said, his eyes glowing red. "I wouldn't have expected it to be from you, Wormtail." He smiled, a sight that was terrible to behold, and which made the man cowering at his feet struggle to keep his bladder under control. "You aren't the only one truly loyal, though, and the faithful shall be rewarded just as those who have strayed shall be punished."

He hissed out a breath and seemed to relish that thought. "They have chosen the poisonous fruit, and they shall have it."

. . . . . . . . . .

Blaise slouched lower on the couch in the common room and watched the girls flutter around Cassius Warrington. The sloth of a seventh year had declared he was going to enter his name into the Goblet of Fire to much acclaim from his fellows. Even Daphne, usually possessed of better sense, was hanging on the man's every word. Blaise thought even a magical cup couldn't be stupid enough to pick Warrington as a Champion, so all the fuss was wasted energy. Someone else would be the Hogwarts Champion. Someone, Blaise hoped, who had a brain in his head.

"Think he'll get picked?" Crabbe asked.

Blaise favored his lackey with a look that dripped even more contempt than usual, but all he said was, "A Slytherin Champion would be good. Maybe with that Goblet in charge instead of Dumbledore, we'll have a chance."

"Old coot," Greg Goyle grunted. Blaise nodded and crossed his arms. Goyle's ability to parrot back opinions remained outstanding. He was another one without a thought to call his own. Blaise wasn't sure he'd ever forgive Nott for abandoning him for Draco and that daft blonde girl. Pansy wasn't much better. At this rate, she'd have dated ever Gryffindor by the time they left Hogwarts. She was off cooing over Krum, he supposed, leaving him totally alone in Slytherin. Just him, the idiots, and a bunch of what seemed to be very dumb girls.

Warrington was flexing his arms and Blaise watched in increasing disgust as girl after girl giggled and felt his biceps. Surely they all knew that the man was as dumb as a rock. His disdain for everyone and everything, especially all the fawning girls, curdled in his mouth until some pesty little girl with actual pigtails ignored every signal he was sending to go away and flopped down next to him.

"Morons," she said.

"Says the pip squeak," Crabbe said. Blaise could tell he thought that was clever. The look the girl gave him suggested she included Crabbe in her grouping of idiots.

"You're Daphne's little sister, aren't you?" Blaise asked the girl. "Asteria, right?"

"Astoria," she said. She sounded offended and Blaise wondered why he was supposed to know the names of everyone's little siblings. At least that was something his mother had done right: he didn't have any little brothers or sisters to worry about. Elora's contraceptive charm had only failed the one time.

"Astoria, then," Blaise said. "Daphne's little sister."

"Not sure I want to admit that right now," Astoria said. Blaise followed her glower and produced one of his own when he saw the way Daphne was still hanging on Warrington.

"Can't say I blame you," he said.

"It'll be Harry," she said.

Blaise snorted. "Can't be," he said. "He's underage."

Astoria looked too smug. "Care to bet?" she asked.

Blaise never was quite sure how he ended up agreeing to a wager with the tiny minx, nor how she turned the stakes into a date to the dance she wasn't supposed to know about, but Astoria Greengrass somehow ended up getting him to agree to take her to this Yule Ball if the Goblet of Fire spit out Harry Potter's name.


	38. Chapter 38 (The Goblet of Fire)

The Goblet of Fire spit out Harry Potter's name.

Blaise stared at it in horror, then over at Astoria Greengrass, who smirked at him with a look that would probably drive men to madness when she was older, but which now just reminded him of someone stealing cookies. He couldn't believe it. He was going to have to go to the Yule Ball with someone's little sister. She was cute enough, but she was a baby. He could already hear Pansy laughing that Blaisey-Blaisey-rhymes-with-Daisy couldn't get a real date so had to rob the primary school.

His animosity towards Harry Potter, which had been somewhat waning, returned full force. The stupid prick had made him have to go to the ball with a girl who was twirling a pony tail around her finger as she poked at one of the endless other girls whose names he'd never bothered to learn and pointed at him.

Trapped. He was trapped.

He slouched down in his seat, already composing the letter he'd write to Sirius complaining about this latest injustice in his head.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry gaped when the Goblet called out his name, then danced to his feet, elated. This was the best prank ever. This was brilliant. This was awesome. He hadn't put his name in, though based on the look on Ron's face not everyone would believe that, but it didn't matter because he'd been chosen anyway. The best sporting even in, oh, in _forever_ , and he got to do it. This was great. He couldn't wait to write Sirius and tell him all about this. He and Remus would be thrilled.

. . . . . . . . .

Draco started to cheer when the Goblet yelled out Harry's name then, looking at Hermione, thought better of it. She'd gone as grey as he'd ever seen her, and as Harry whooped in delight she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind and she couldn't believe anyone could be that stupid.

Draco admitted, though he'd never, ever say it out loud to Harry, that she was probably right. The contest was supposed to be for fully trained wizards, and was often deadly even to them. There was no way Harry could win; he might not even survive. He reached a hand out to pull Harry back, to hiss in his ear that there had to be a mistake, he hadn't even put his name in, for Merlin's sake, but it was too late because Harry had already run up to join the other Champions.

He'd have to write his mother. She'd know what to do. And Sirius. He'd write to Sirius. If anyone could pull Harry back from the brink of this disaster, it would be Sirius.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione couldn't believe it when the Goblet said, "Harry Potter." She knew he hadn't put his name in. Oh, he and Draco had talked about it often enough. Lots of underage students had. The magical line preventing them from going near the Goblet, however, had worked. Fred and George Weasley had tried an aging potion to no avail. A girl in Ravenclaw had asked a seventh year to test it and carry her name across the line. The parchment had burst into flame as soon as it passed the magical barrier. There just hadn't been a way and Harry had eventually shrugged and moved on to other things.

She looked up at Minerva McGonagall. The professor looked furious and had leaned over at the High Table to hiss in Pomona Spout's ear. The Herbology professor looked equally upset and she was nodding at everything McGonagall said.

Hermione decided to trust they would take care of it, but decided she'd write to Sirius too, just in case. Harry was sure to be horribly disappointed when he wasn't allowed to participate and maybe Sirius could find a way to cheer him up with a new broom or something.

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville Longbottom felt his brain itch when the Goblet called out Harry's name. He shook himself and tried to focus. Everyone around him was gasping and looking at Harry who, of course, was bounding up to the front of the room. Even Headmaster Dumbledore looked baffled, and Hermione looked like she wanted to scream. Ginny glanced over at him and Neville shrugged at her but took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I'm sure it will be fine," he whispered into her ear, feeling her hair brush against his cheek. "I bet Hermione is already planning a long letter to Sirius explaining why he has to come up here right away and take care of this."

. . . . . . . . . .

Alastor Moody, newest in the long line of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, pulled his flask from his pocket and took a sip. His tongue revolted at the taste but some things had to be borne, so he just screwed the lid back on and tucked the flask away again. He kept his face appropriately serious and concerned when the Goblet spit out the Potter boy's name.

Constant Vigilance, he said to himself, capitalizing the words in his mind.

That vigilance kept him from frowning when he overheard that self-righteous cow, Minerva McGonagall, sat she'd write to the boy's foster father, that the very idea of an underage child in the Triwizard Tournament turned her stomach. She didn't approve of the whole mess to begin with and she certainly didn't approve of including a boy whose voice still cracked when he was excited about something.

Harpy, he thought. He could see Potter himself was thrilled to be in the Tournament and there the old witch had to go, trying to ruin everything. Still, he doubted any letter home would be likely to spoil the boy's fun. Everyone knew Sirius Black's reputation. He'd be up for this kind of thing, think it a lark, he would.

No, Moody thought to himself, he didn't need to worry about Black throwing a spanner in the works.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Absolutely not," Sirius said. He handed the note from Minerva to Remus who read it and went pale. The morning had brought them an entire parliament of owls. Harry was excited, Draco and Hermione worried, Blaise put out and ranting about some girl named Astoria, and Minerva succinct.

 _Sirius,_

 _The Goblet of Fire produced Harry's name last night as a competitor for the Triwizard Tournament. Obviously, this cannot be allowed to stand. Albus, however, as well as that Barty Couch, have been insisting this is a binding magical contract. Please obtain the services of a solicitor and let me know when you will be arriving to sort this mess out._

 _Fondly,_

 _Minerva_

"What do you plan to do?" Remus asked.

"Write Cissa, of course," Sirius said. "She'll already have the best legal mind in London on retainer."

. . . . . . . . . .

Lucius Malfoy enjoyed breakfast. He liked to sit down over a plate of croissants and maybe a little marmalade and some fresh figs and read the paper. _The Daily Prophet_ was rubbish, of course, but that didn't stop him from spreading it out each day as part of his morning ritual so he could see what pap the masses would be believing that day. The ridiculous Triwizard Tournament had been filling the pages since it had been announced. Barty Couch, Sr., a man Lucius despised on principle because he had sent his only child to prison, had reveled in the attention. His little, warty face glistened out from photograph after photograph as he gave interview after interview about international cooperation and the value of sport.

Lucius found the man's gluttonous appetite for fame distasteful.

Some articles speculated whether Hogwarts could handle the crush of other students. Others reproduced Hogwarts recipes with the headline, _Serve Your Family What Sporting Ambassadors from Abroad Eat._ Pundits compared the education that could be had at Hogwarts for free with what more affluent families could buy if they were willing to pay foreign tuition fees at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.

"Still think we should have sent the boy to Durmstrang," Lucius said, his face safely behind the newsprint so he wouldn't have to see the expression on Narcissa's face.

"I don't suppose they've published the Champions," Narcissa said. Her voice was too sweet and Lucius lowered the pages, already worried.

"Why?" he asked. They hadn't. He'd assumed there would be a special edition later that day, complete with dear Barty sweating and smiling as he waved to the readers one more time, probably standing next to whichever Champion was prettiest. However, if Narcissa was asking, that meant she knew something, and that tone of voice meant it wasn't good. "What?"

"Didn't you wonder why I got quite so much mail this morning?"

Lucius glanced at her pile of correspondence. He honestly hadn't. Narcissa got a lot of mail, mostly invitations to things she turned down, occasionally an incoherent missive from her sister in Azkaban, even more rarely a scrawled note from Harry or Draco telling her they loved her and could she maybe send them money? "No," he said cautiously.

"Sirius wrote me," she said. Lucius straightened at that. Sirius wasn't one for letter writing. Showing up unannounced, that werewolf in tow, yes. Writing a note as if he were a civilized person, no.

"Oh," he said. "I was unaware he owned quills."

"Very funny," Narcissa said, though her smile suggested she wasn't nearly as annoyed as the words would have suggested. That smile faltered and disappeared after a moment though. "The Goblet of Fire, their handy little magical device, spit out Harry's name."

"I know what the Goblet of Fire is," Lucius said automatically. If he hadn't before this year, he certainly would have now, thanks to the _Prophet_. Annoying, really, all the coverage of this silliness. "How did the boy get his name in? I though there was supposed to be an age line." He tsked. "Is Dumbledore getting senile? Not like him to bungle a simple spell like that."

"Sirius doesn't think Harry put his name in." She picked up the note and looked it over again as if confirming she was correct. Lucius wasn't fooled; Narcissa never forgot a single thing she read. Not ever.

He huffed a moment then said, "Well, I'm sure you'll get that straightened out. Called Selwyn yet?"

Narcissa smiled at him. "He'll be meeting me in Dumbledore's office, along with Sirius and Minerva, this very afternoon."

. . . . . . . . . .

Sirius had yelled at the beginning of the meeting. He'd yelled that Dumbledore was in his dotage if he thought for one moment either he or Narcissa would allow Harry to participate in this farce of a death trap of a contest. He would have gone on if Narcissa hadn't looked at him. It was a look Lucius knew well, and one Draco knew was followed by some kind of unpleasant chore. Sirius wasn't as familiar with the expression but he knew it well enough to stop talking and he slouched down into a chair and began just glowering.

"It's just," Barty Couch said, fussing with his jacket lapels in a way that made Sirius want to slap him, "it's just that it's a _binding magical contract_. I know that it's dangerous, I do, but the boy has no choice now. He has to participate."

Albus Dumbledore spread his hands as if to say what could he do. That was when Earnest Selwyn, a dumpy man in cheap robes with a battered briefcase that looked as if he'd stolen it from a homeless man, spoke.

"Well," he said, "I'm afraid that's the issue here."

"I don't see how it's an issue," Couch said. " _Binding magical contract_."

"Yes," Selwyn said. "But, you see, there's a problem." He pushed his spectacles up and reached down into his briefcase to pull out a stack of parchment murmuring that he needed to see and, oh yes. "How old did you say the boy was, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"He is fourteen," she said. Her hands were folded on her lap and her spine was unbent and her poise unflustered.

Sirius began to glower less and enjoy the scene more. "And a young fourteen," he said.

"Well," Earnest Selwyn said, peering at Sirius, "his maturity isn't quite relevant, Mr. Black. His birth date, however, well, is. If we look at, oh, well, any number of cases, we see that minors are, well, simply not permitted to enter into contacts. The entire thing is null and… well, you see, it's quite voidable, really, if a thing that doesn't quite exist can be said to be, well, let me start with the cradle betrothal of one Marileise Abbott to one Cepheus Black in 1632…"

Sirius leaned back in his chair and listened to the man mumble his way through three hours of ruthlessly laid out historical precedent that explained that Harry Potter was no more bound by a magical contract than Marileise Abbott had been. At the one hour mark he looked up at his cousin. Narcissa hadn't so much as twitched during the monologue. Her smile remained calm and she seemed politely interested. Dumbledore had begun to look strained by the two hour mark. At two and half hours, Couch was squirming like a toddler with a full bladder.

At three hours, Selwyn concluded with, "So, well, umm, as you see - "

"Yes," Minerva McGonagall said, stopping him. "Mr. Potter is _not_ bound by the magical contact, and he is _not_ a fourth Triwizard Champion. Cedric Diggory shall represent Hogwarts, and I'm sure he'll do a marvelous job."

"We can go?" Barty Couch asked in a small voice.

"It's down the corridor and to the left," Dumbledore said.

"Thank you for clearing this up, Narcissa," Professor McGonagall said. She turned to the solicitor. "Mr. Selwyn, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"And yours." He bobbed over her hand. "I remember reading about your work on - ." McGonagall led him from the office as he began to talk about research she'd published on transfiguration theory twenty years earlier.

"Well," Narcissa said, rising from her seat, "Now that that is settled, Albus, I do hope you'll let us use your Floo to get home."

"Of course," he said. "Please be my guest."

She stood for a moment on the threshold of the fireplace after Sirius had already departed. "I would, and will, do anything to protect my boys. Try to remember that and you'll be spared more meetings with Earnest."

"Spared?" Dumbledore said as she took the handful of Floo powder and prepared to leave. "I quite enjoyed seeing such a brilliant mind at work. Good day, Mrs. Malfoy."

. . . . . . . . . .

"What do you mean I can't do it?" Harry demanded. He flung his body down onto a couch in the Gryffindor common room. "That's so not fair."

"Harry," Hermione began.

"Harry," Draco said.

"Oh, it would have been so much fun," he said, glaring at both of them. "And now Mum had to go and ruin it." He crossed his arms and found a way to get his body even lower against the couch. "I bet I would have won, too."

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks.

"Right," Hermione said. She was about to go off on how there was no way an underage wizard could possibly manage such a thing, but Draco kicked her and she stopped. "Well, too late now," she said instead. "But you can sit with us."

"Oh, goody," Harry said. He kicked at the leg of a table. "I can watch. Yay."

Hermione huffed at him and stomped off to work on an essay and Draco was left to cheer up his best friend.

"Stop worrying about the contest you can't do," he said, "and think about this Yule Ball thing. We have to ask girls out. To a fancy party. With flowers."

"Merlin," Harry muttered. He sank even lower into the couch. "This day just gets worse and worse."

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Much love to Shayalonnie, who alpha reads this for me. No one beta reads it, so all the typos belong to me._**


	39. Chapter 39 - The First Task

Neville ducked his head and flushed when he asked Ginny to go to the Yule Ball with him. "I know I'm not the most popular," he began but she flung her arms around him and squealed.

. . . . . . . . .

"I should be in that tent," Harry said. He'd been sullen all day, and his bad mood had gotten worse with each step they'd taken into the stands to watch the first task in the Triwizard Tournament. It hadn't helped that some reporter had stuck her quill under his nose, tickling him until he sneezed, and then asked what were his feelings on being kept out of the fun when the Goblet had produced his name.

"He feels very lucky to not be risking death," Hermione said with a glare at the woman. She shoved past her with a well-placed shoulder that left the reporter struggling to keep from dropping her notepad. Her quill kept floating above the paper, dutifully transcribing the pithy and rude student comments as they tromped past on their way to sit down and watch fun.

"Give it a rest, mate," Ron said. He pulled a bottle out of the heavy bag he'd insisted on lugging out of the castle. "You'll have a lot more fun with us."

"Where'd you get that?" Fred Weasley demanded, appearing as if from nowhere with a pleased tilt tipping his head. Hermione groaned and he grinned at her. "I'm sure there's enough to share," he said.

Ron turned slowly to see his twin brothers smirking at him, rapidly transfigured cups in each of their hands.

"Pay the toll and we won't tell mum," George advised, wiggling his cup.

Ron groaned but he unscrewed his forbidden bottle and poured out some of the whiskey for each of them.

"You're a good lad," George said.

"Easy to intimidate," Fred said.

"Makes us almost like you," George said before both of them clambered up the bleachers to better seats.

"Wankers," Ron muttered. Despite the sibling depredations, however, plenty of whiskey remained and Ron poured it round as Dean and Seamus clapped him on the back and Neville accepted about half a glass with a nervous smile.

"What do you think the task will be?" Neville asked. "A puzzle, maybe? Some kind of tricky spell to unravel?"

It turned out to be dragons. Harry gulped and went pale when Percy Weasley stood up on the judges platform, made a small cough, and straightened his tie before explaining that each contestant had to find a way to steal an egg from a dragon. They had three dragons on site, each a different type, and the contestants had drawn lots to see who went first and who got each dragon. Judges would allot points based on both degree of success and style.

"Degree of how burned they get, you mean," Hermione said with a frown. She seemed disappointed in the task. This wasn't a test of magical acumen or wits so much as a feat of derring do.

"Spoilsport," Ron said. Harry sniggered until Hermione glared at him, when he thrust out his lip in a dramatic pout.

Derring do did turn out to be fun to watch, at least. Dragons swooped and breathed out fire, and contestants tried to sneak up on them, confuse them, and steal their eggs. By the third contestant, Harry had regained his swagger and kept insisting he could have done this, this was about flying and speed, not about some kind of magical skill that you had to be almost a fully trained wizard to even hope to have.

Cedric Diggory, their very own Champion, went first, and transfigured a rock into what looked like an egg to trick the dragon. Neville, his arm slung around Ginny, said he didn't think that was quite fair, but the rest of the crowd didn't seem to agree as the hometown favorite snuck past the dragon to steal the real egg. The crowd hushed with hideous delight when the dragon realized the trick and breathed his fire out at Cedric, but, despite a burn to his face, Cedric escaped intact and with the dragon's egg.

"See," Harry said. He poked at Hermione. "Transfiguraion. That's nothing. I could have done that."

Hermione might have rolled her eyes at him with vigor if she hadn't gotten distracted. Ron's whiskey had turned out to be more potent than he had known, and she didn't have any kind of tolerance. One glass and the world seemed like a very delightful place. A bit of a tippy place, perhaps, but wonderful. "This is great," she said to Draco. She looped on hand around his neck and hung on him. "I'm having so much fun, aren't you?"

He nuzzled at her neck, but was himself distracted. "Why does Professor Moody hate me so much?" he asked.

Hermione followed the direction of his nervous head tilt and narrowed her eyes. The latest in their long string of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors was glaring over at them, his magical eye twirling in its socket. "I don't think he hates _you_ ," she said, speaking as clearly as she could. "I think he knows what we have."

"Not possible," Ron said. He poured himself another glass. "How could he?"

Hermione shrugged and turned back to Draco and found herself nose to nose with a boy who'd moved closer to her on the bench. "You smell so good," he said. "Girls smell good."

"What?" Dean Thomas asked. He nudged Seamus. "How many do you think he's had?"

"Too many," Seamus opined.

"I've only had one glass," Draco said. There was a loud rumble from the playing field, a spurt of fire, and a gust of hot air that pushed against them all. "Man wants a cold drink on a day like this."

"Are you really not watching the Task?" Harry demanded. He yanked on Draco's arm and pointed to where Fleur Delacour was beating out the flames in her skirt. She'd charmed the dragon to sleep and snuck up on the beast, a trick quite a few people in the stands seemed to find unsporting based on the way they booed her. The dragon, however, snored, resulting in the spurt of flame that had sent heat into the stands and well as igniting her skirt.

"She's fine," Draco said. She'd already extinguished the fire and held her egg aloft to less than enthusiastic cheers.

"Not very exciting," Ron said. "A napping dragon? What next? I hope Krum doesn't just accio the egg or something."

Krum didn't accio the egg. The crowd let out an excited shriek when his dragon was revealed. "A Chinese Fireball," Ron said with awe. At Hermione's surprised giggle that he could identify the dragon by sight alone, he twisted his mouth into a petulant frown. "Charlie works with dragons, remember?"

"Plus, they're easy to pick out," Harry said. Ron glared at him as he began to tick off the dragon's characteristics. "Red, smooth scales, and not small."

The beast roared and a mushroom shaped flame came out of its mouth.

"I'm guessing three tons," Hermione said. Draco poked her in the ribs and she giggled again when he whispered something in her ear. The way she batted at his arm with her hand made the rest of the Gryffindor's sitting near them look at the pair with the slow dawning realization she was wholly pissed.

"How much has she had?" Seamus asked in a stage whisper.

"Just the one," Ron said. He reached over and refilled her glass. "Don't hold back Hermione. Have a good time."

She got in one sip before Draco accidentally on purpose tipped the glass over and it sent its forbidden whiskey spilling down over the supports of the stands. Hermione made a show of pouting as she bent over to look after her lost drink and Draco cupped her chin in one hand when she straightened up. "You're so clumsy," she accused him.

"I'll make it up to you," he said, and as Victor Krum too the field to battle his dragon with a blinding curse Draco pressed his mouth to Hermione's whiskey flavored lips. As the one snuck to steal an egg the second stole a kiss, though the one robbed seemed more than willing to be plundered. As the dragon flailed in panic because it couldn't see, Hermione closed her own eyes and laced her fingers through Draco's.

The crowd roared its approval of the final Champion as Harry looked over at the pair of and said with disgust, "Honestly, you haven't been watching this at all, have you Draco? It's Victor Krum. You can snog your girlfriend anytime."

. . . . . . . . . .

"She's like five," Pansy said. " _Five,_ Blaisey Blaisey, so if you put one hand wrong at the Ball, I will personally remove it from your arm."

Blaise glared at her. "I do know she's… look, I lost a bet. A bet with _her_. I'll be a perfect gentleman. I'll treat her like someone's little sister I got saddled with at a wedding. I'm not going to go kissing some first year." He wrinkled his nose and screwed up his mouth. "Merlin."

"Five," Pansy said again.

"I'm not five." Astoria Greengrass has overheard the conversation and come up with her hands on her hips and a pout on her lips. She had her hair tied back in pigtails with actual bows and Pansy dragged her eyes from that hair down the girl's uniform to end at her black and white Mary Jane shoes and said nothing. "I'm _thirteen_ ," Astoria said. She looked like she was about to stomp her foot.

"Right," said Pansy.

"I thought you were a first year," Blaise said with shock that was a little too obvious. How had he somehow missed this irritating brat for three years? Astoria goggled at him and he began to grin at the obvious horror in her eyes. "I mean," he drawled out as he reached over to tug on one pigtail, "I don't think Pans here was wearing these last year."

Astoria whirled and stomped away.

"Salazar," Pansy said. "Do you think her dress will have a giant bow on the butt?"

Blaise shuddered. "I hope not," he said.

. . . . . . . . .

Theo hesitated before he mumbled something so incoherent no one could possibly have understood him. Luna, however, opened her eyes wide and said, "You want to take _me_?"

"Only if you want to go," he said, already embarrassed.

She tipped her head to the side and seemed to think about that. "Do you think there will be goats?" she asked.

He had no idea, but that seemed to count as a yes and he let out a sigh of relief.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione looked at the robes her mother had sent and sighed. When Lavender asked what the matter was, she turned to her roommate and held up the offending garment. Lavender looked at the green flounces and the large bow that would have looked out of place on a child of ten and when she couldn't keep from snickering Hermione threw the dress down and sank onto bed and began to cry.

Parvati picked it up and studied it as if she could somehow find an angle that could force the dress into being pretty. She turned it back and forth and finally looked up at Lavender. The pair of them agreed with one look. "Hermione," Parvati said, "you can't wear this."

"It's terrible," Lavender said. She reached down and pulled out a pile of owl order catalogues and as Hermione stared at her she began to flip through one after another.

"Pink," Parvati said, pointing to one dress. Lavender shook her head. "Blue," she said. "It's a winter party."

Parvati had to physically pull on Hermione's arm to get her to join them. "You guys don't have to help me," she said through sniffles as she searched through her bag for a handkerchief. Things just got lost in its depths and she'd pulled out her planner with the neatly tabbed notes highlighting her schedule for each class, three quills because you never knew when one would stop working, and a book she needed to return to Theo the next time she saw him. By the time she'd found the handkerchief, Parvati was rolling her eyes and tugging her over to look through the magazines and catalogues.

"This one," Parvati said, and pointed to a silvery white dress that flowed over the model like a slip.

"It looks like a nightgown," Hermione said. "And I don't think I'm thin enough for that."

Parvati was about to insist that of course she was when Hermione tugged her jumper tight across her chest. All three of them looked first at her, then at the model. "Right," Parvati said, and turned the page. A red dress had a neckline that plunged too low, and a black dress had one so high it would feel like you were being choked. One dress had too many sequins; the next had too many colors. Hermione didn't know how the two of them could possibly enjoy this exercise in not finding what you wanted but it was obvious they did. They tipped their heads together with hers and pointed out things in this one that was good, or a feature of that one that was like Lavender's dress, and by dinner she wasn't upset about the green monstrosity anymore.

"We'll find something," Parvati said as they left to go down to the Dining Hall. "Don't worry."

Lavender nodded. "It will be fine. You can give that thing your mother sent to some little kid or something. That Blaise in Slytherin lost a bet and has to take a first year. Maybe she could use it."

"No," Parvati breathed out. "He's taking a first year? Really?"

The rest of the walk was spent in delighted gossip about how was taking whom, though nothing could top the prospect of the cutest boy in their year stuck with a first year, especially if she wore the dress Hermione's mum had sent. "That giant green bow," Lavender said. As they walked into the Dining Hall and spotted Zabini, all three of them collapsed into giggles at the idea and their own Housemates looked at them in confusion.

"Zabini," Lavender said. "Green." And the three of them were lost again with tears running out of their eyes from their laughter.

"Girls," Ron said, as though that explained everything.

. . . . . . . . . .

 ** _A/N - Much love to SunsetOasis, who gave me the inspiration I needed to get this chapter done with all her thoughtful support. Next chapter will be the Yule Ball, obviously._**


	40. Chapter 40 - The Yule Ball

Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door of her room. Lavender and Parvati had spent over an hour combing enough Sleekeezy into her hair for four girls, and piling the result onto her head. As a result of all their work, she had smooth hair with curls that spilled out of a twist to frame her face. She had to admit the result was pretty glorious, but the time commitment seemed excessive. "Do people really do this every day?" she'd kept asking as they shoved another pin into her hair.

The answer, apparently, was yes. She didn't plan to become one of these crazy people, but Lavender assured her they did exist. She'd also put on makeup, and done her nails, and poured herself into a blue dress that most emphatically did not have a giant bow on the back. Layers of periwinkle silk fluttered around her in waves and she felt beautiful.

Draco was waiting in the common room and he sucked in his breath when he saw her. "Wow," he breathed out, and the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders dissipated. "You look pretty good yourself," she said. He did, too. She was sure the dress robes he had on had been custom made just for him, and a lock of his pale hair kept falling down into his eyes. Every time he shoved it back behind an ear he looked unsure and adorable. She grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss onto one cheek in excitement before pulling back, suddenly shy.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a sprig of white roses. The florist must have charmed them against being crushed because they looked no worse for wear and he held them out mumbling, "I got these for you."

She felt rather absurdly like she was going to cry as he used a quick sticking charm to attach them to her dress. "What the matter?" Harry asked as he tried to stick a corsage onto Parvati's robes. He accidentally set the flower on crooked so it jutted out to the side and the sticking charm refused to release. "Hermione, fix this. I can't get it on her right."

Hermione sighed and bit at her lip as she got the charm to release just enough so the flowers could be forced into a less ridiculous position. "Honesty, Harry, how did you almost manage a permanent sticking charm?" she asked. "That's not even in the curriculum until N.E.W.T. levels."

"Figures you would know that," Ron said. "I need to go fetch Padma. I'll see you there."

Draco frowned. "What's Harry mean, what's the matter?" he asked Hermione.

She watched Ron saunter out the portrait hole with an annoyed twinge pushing away the brief spurt of weepiness. The way he always had to mock her for caring about school grated more and more as the years went on. She was glad he spent most of his time with Dean and Seamus and hoped he didn't ditch Padma to be a third wheel with his friends. "Just," she said, and struggled for a way to put it into words. "This just feels like something really nice. You and me."

He slid his fingers into hers and she could feel his palm was a little sweaty and that he was as nervous as she was reassured her. She squeezed his hand and looked over for Neville and promptly wished she hadn't. He and Ginny had slid onto a window seat and it was clear that Ginny was going to need to reapply her lip gloss before they left. "So… should we wait for them?" she asked.

Draco glanced at Neville and his eyes widened. "I don't think so," he said. He hustled her out the portrait hole, putting himself between her and the couple behind them when she tried to look back.

She heard Harry mutter, "Damn, Neville," under his breath to Draco but she decided discretion was the better part of not knowing too much about your friends and turned her thoughts to the Yule Ball.

"This is going to be the best night ever," she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Blaise passed the flowers he'd gotten for the wretched girl from one hand to the next and waited for her to appear. How long could it take to do up pigtails anyway? Pansy had already threatened him _again_ before taking off to meet up with her own mystery date. He assumed she'd cornered some loser from Hufflepuff because who else would put up with her? He was about to cast a _tempus_ charm again when Astoria appeared at the entrance to the girl's dorms and he blinked a few times and shook his head as if he could clear the vision away. He had to be delusional. The bratty girl with her stupid little girl hair and ridiculous bows was gone and in her place was a sylph. A beautiful sylph. He swallowed hard and managed to force out, "You look nice," and then she grinned and it was the same girl but she also wasn't.

"You aren't a first year, right?" he asked, wanting to confirm she was only a year younger and thus well within the acceptable limit of kissable. Pansy was going to have to choke on it, because his plans to treat her as someone's annoying little sister at a wedding had evaporated and left his mouth dry and his palms sweating.

"I'm thirteen," she said, obviously annoyed. "I'm not a baby."

"Right," he said, and fastened the corsage to the tiny strap of her dress. "Can you walk in those shoes?" he asked and then realized that was stupid. She'd obviously made it from her room to here.

"I can go up stairs backwards in them while carrying one end of a table," she said.

"That's very specific," he said. "How do you know that?"

He offered her his arm and led her out of the dungeon as she launched into a story about how she'd had them on under long robes despite being specifically told she couldn't wear them until a party her parents were having. "I had to practice," she explained. "You can't just pull heels this high out of a box and expect to just know how they work."

Blaise acknowledged that made sense.

She'd been cornered by her mother, who needed help carrying a table up to a sitting room she was redecorating, and as she couldn't admit she'd put on the forbidden shoes, she just had to carry the table.

"You could have broken your ankle," he said but he knew his admiration for the sheer sassiness of that came out in his voice.

"Could have," she said, "but didn't."

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy smiled with triumph as she swept down over the stairs into the Yule Ball on Victor Krum's arm. He'd asked her about Hermione, as if any fool couldn't see that she and Draco had been joined at the hip since they'd met, but when Pansy had explained Hermione already had a date, Victor had sighed and admitted he didn't know how to ask girls out. "They all just care about Quidditch," he said as if being admired for athletic prowess were somehow the worst thing in the world. "They don't ever want to know about me."

Pansy wasn't one to miss an opening that obvious, so she said, "Well, what about you? What do you like to do besides catching tiny gold balls?"

And he'd told her. First in the library, where he'd cornered her about Hermione, and then on walks to the lake through the snow. She'd been shocked to find he was actually a really interesting guy. He was smart, and funny, and his family had been in the war with Grindelwald and he knew things she'd never heard of. "We only really talk about the Goblin Wars in history," she'd told him, and he'd been appalled and that had started an actual lecture on the fanatics who'd tried to start a war between wizards and Muggles, all in the name of the greater good.

"But why would you kill Muggles?" she'd asked, thinking of Hermione's parents. Despite their terrible ideas of snacks, they were just normal people. Handicapped, maybe, because they couldn't do magic, but you couldn't go around just killing people because they couldn't do magic. That was flat out wrong, and a bit unfair. It was like kicking a first year down the stairs or something. When she told him that, he'd grabbed her face and kissed her and she'd stood there, shocked, and then very slowly kissed him back.

She hadn't told anyone she was his Yule Ball date, though, and she knew it wouldn't have occurred to him. Every eye turned to her as they made their entrance and she smiled as every girl writhed in jealousy that she, the pug-faced Slytherin, had captured the greatest Seeker in the world. Well, every girl except Hermione, who had her head on Draco's shoulder and looked annoyingly enraptured with him as usual.

"You like the attention?" Krum asked quietly.

"I do," she admitted.

"You'll get tired of it," he said. She looked up at him and he shrugged. "You will," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry crossed his arms and watched as the Champions opened the dancing. Not only should he be out there, his _ex-girlfriend_ was out there. It was almost too much to bear. "This is your fault," he muttered to Hermione.

She hit him on the arm. "Yes, it's my fault you didn't have to fight a dragon," she said. "You poor thing."

"It would have been easy," he said.

Hermione and Parvati rolled their eyes in unison. "Right," Parvati said. She patted the butterfly clip she'd added to her hair to make sure no jerk had charmed it into flying away. "Now that they've started, we can all dance."

Harry gave her a blank look.

"That was a hint," Draco said in a very loud undertone.

"Oh," Harry said. "You want to dance."

Parvati looked unamused.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You look beautiful tonight, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said as the fourth-year girl ladled punch into two glasses at the Yule Ball.

"Thank you, ma'am," she said. Draco Malfoy was leaning up against a column, holding court it appeared, as he waited for her to come back.

"Are you having a good time," McGonagall pressed.

"Yes, ma'am." She paused. "I never had a chance to thank you for making sure Harry didn't have to participate in the Triwizard Tournament."

Minerva McGonagall waved her hand as though that argument hadn't taken days, hadn't required her to draw on the solicitor Narcissa Malfoy had provided. "He's underage and minors can't enter into legal contracts so it was simply a ridiculous prank someone instigated that had to be snipped in the bud before anyone got hurt."

. . . . . . . . . .

"There aren't any goats," Luna said rather sadly as Theo wrapped his hands around her waist. "That seems very unfortunate because goats are good luck."

Theo nodded as though that made perfect sense. "They probably would poop on the dance floor," he said. "And people would slip on it."

She smiled at him. "You're right," she said. "That is clever thinking."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco took one of Hermione's hands in his and wrapped the other around her waist and she leaned up against him. She was so tired, but didn't want to climb back up those stairs to the tower to fall into bed. This had been the perfect night and she never wanted it to end. "What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"Just," she started to say, and then blushed. "Just that this has been really nice," she said. She tried to think of something more sophisticated and settled on, "You're a really good dancer."

"Thanks," he said a bit awkwardly.

"Neville, huh?" she asked.

"I know," he said. "Wild."

She tipped her chin up to look at him. The lights had been turned lower than any professor could have wanted, but no one had waved a wand to brighten the room up, and the shadows gave the illusion of privacy even though they swayed on a dance floor surrounded by hundreds of students. Most seemed lost in their own worlds. "My feet hurt," she said. They did, too. She'd word fairly sensible shoes, nothing like the heels Blaise's date had on, but hours on them had turned a slight ache in to an ongoing throb.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, and when he led her off to a seat she found a bench way in a back corner, near candles that had burned down to nothing.

She slipped a shoe off and flexed her foot and sighed with pleasure. "Stupid shoes," she said. She scooted over so she was leaning on him. "Did you have a good time?" she asked.

"The best," he whispered, and then his hands were cupping her face, and she'd turned so their mouths met. His tongue sneaked out to lick at her lip and, still nervous about the whole kissing thing, she tentatively parted her lips just a little. When the kiss stopped, she still wasn't completely sure she was a fan of this tongue thing. It seemed a little weird. "We're forever, right?" he asked her.

She rested her head against his chest. "You know we are," she said. She wasn't sure how she knew, and she knew her mother would tell her she was much too young and that this was just some kind of crush. _People feel things very intensely when they are teenagers_ , her mother would say. _That doesn't mean it's forever_.

She knew her mother would be wrong if she said that, though. It was true for Harry and his endless string of girlfriends, but it wasn't true for them.


	41. Chapter 41

Hermione flung her arms around Draco's neck and squeezed. The winter holidays had arrived with snow and ice and a wind that cut through every layer and left you shivering. The cold was unrelenting even at the train station in London, thought it had been worse in London. "You're going to choke me," he squeaked out at her tight hug, and she let go at once. The adults all chuckled and the pair of them squirmed with embarrassment.

"For fuck's sake, Hermione," Harry said. "Could you lighten up? You act like you won't see him for ages."

Narcissa, waiting to take her son home to a manor decorated from cellar to attic with greenery and fairy lights, looked over at Sirius with disapproval in her eyes. He became very interested in the tops of his shoes. He'd claim he had no idea where Harry got his mouth from, but that was too obvious a lie and she'd just pounce on it and use it as a way to suggest Harry should spent more time with them.

"Come, Draco," Narcissa said when it became clear Sirius had no intention of admitting anything about his godson's language issues or giving her any sort of opening. "You'll see your friends at Harry's party in just a few days but your father and I would like a little of your time first."

"Yes, Mum," he said, but he shoved a clumsily wrapped box into Hermione's hand before his mother pulled him away. "See you at the party."

Hermione waved at him, her hand as frantic as it was when she tried to get a professor's attention, and then darted off with her parents.

"Could you watch your language in front of adults?" Sirius asked Harry. He tried to put a look of firm authority on his face, but it kept shifting into amused exasperation instead and he gave up and just ruffled the already messy hair. "Let's go," he said. "Remus was making some kind of chocolate biscuit with melted chocolate on the inside, and when I left he and Kreacher were arguing about butter versus something called Flora White."

"Flora what?" Harry asked.

"Some kind of healthier fat thing," Sirius said with a shrug. Arthur Weasley had brought some home, part of his endless obsession with all things Muggle, and Molly had promptly dumped it on them swearing she'd never use anything but proper butter. Apparently she couldn't abide the waste of just throwing the stuff away, and in her mind only a pair of bachelors would be indifferent enough cooks to use it, and so there it was, on their counter. "If we're lucky, they'll have come to some kind of compromise and we'll get home to fresh biscuits and not an angry elf."

"Or an angry Remus," Harry said.

"Or that," Sirius agreed. "Merlin forbid."

. . . . . . . . . .

The Christmas tree in the townhouse bent at the top, too tall for even the high ceilings. Sirius never went for demure when it came to trees and this year was no exception. A motley collage of ornaments hung from the branches. Glass balls, purchased in Diagon Alley one year when Sirius had decided to try to make a proper tree like Lily would have done, hung next to pieces of paper with glitter glued on in patterns that, if you squinted, looked somewhat like a tree or wreath. They'd saved every Christmas art project Harry had ever made and hung them every year. Kreacher had hauled antique Black decorations from the attic and Remus had coaxed fairy lights into arranging themselves. The final result was a hodgepodge that Harry loved. Narcissa Malfoy's floral designer would have cried at the lack of tonal unity or any sort of theme but he didn't care. It was their tree. It was wonderful. "Christmas is just the best," he said as he shoved one of Remus' chocolate biscuits into his mouth.

It was, too. While it was possible an objective person would say the mounds of presents might have been a bit much, and that Harry was indulged more than any one child should be, no one could deny that the holiday in that townhouse brimmed with love and laughter and that he seemed to escape the worst sins of spoiling by dint of a generally pleasant, if mischievous, soul. The only hint of a frown appeared when Harry found out Sirius had invited Blaise Zabini to the holiday party.

"Last year Hermione punched him," Harry said in warning. "We don't like him."

"Maybe this year she can keep her hands to herself," Sirius said blandly. "And you and Draco as well."

"Neville's not coming?" Remus asked. They'd sent his grandmother an owl inviting the boy and pleading with her to let him come despite Draco's presence. She'd seemed to relent and said he'd become a bit reclusive and maybe it would be good for him to see school friends over the holiday.

Sirius shook his head. "She sent another owl," he said. "Said he wants to stay home."

"Neville's getting weird," Harry said, but he didn't care much about Neville's anti-social tendencies when the far more pressing issue of Zabini was in front of him. The very idea of Blaise at his party _again_ grated. It wasn't as if Sirius was seeing his mother anymore so didn't see why he had to make nice. "Is he staying the night?"

He clearly wanted the answer to be no. If he were there with Hermione and Pansy, that was one thing. If he stayed after the girls left, spoiling his sleepover with Draco, that was another.

"He is," Sirius said. "And you and Draco will be nice."

Harry kicked at the edge of the rug but the tone of Sirius's voice warned him not to push it any further.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You invited _Zabini_?" Pansy's shrill question reverberated through the party, making even Harry cringe. It was one thing to not want the boy over but did she have to just screech out how unwelcome he was? Some part of Narcissa Malfoy's attempts to drill manners into his head must have taken, because he thrust a hand out at the boy and mumbled a greeting. It wouldn't have won any awards for graciousness, but it did get a warm smile from Sirius.

"Nice to see you too, Parkinson," Blaise said. He ignored Harry's hand and sat down on one chair, from where he eyed the spread of holiday treats Kreacher had laid out on a table. "Where's the overage boyfriend?"

"Overage!" she said and slammed the door to the parlor, shutting away the sight of Elora Zabini flashing her neatly framed cleavage in Sirius' uninterested face. "I'm not the one who was snogging some first year at the Ball!"

"What first year?" Draco asked, suddenly interested. He'd been nuzzling Hermione's neck on a window seat and ignoring the byplay, but the notion the only date Blaise had been able to snag was an eleven-year-old piqued his malicious interest. "I thought he went with Daphne's pain in the arse sister. Even she said no?"

"He did," Pansy said. She pointed a nail with smudged polish at him. "I told you to be careful and what did you do?"

"She's thirteen," Harry said. He was all for twitting Zabini, but he'd spent enough time being insulted by Astoria at Narcissa Malfoy's various parties to know how old the girl was and that she was more than a match for Blaise. If Pansy should be worried about anyone in that couple, it was Blaise. She'd probably eat him alive. "She's awful. Did you know the elves started refusing to babysit her when she was four? They'd cross their little arms and say they'd take clothes before they'd watch her for one more hour."

"She looked good, though," Draco said. "That dress was something else."

"And at least I didn't go with an _adult_ ," Blaise said. "Krum's eighteen, Pansy. Don't you think it's a little creepy he wants to date a fourteen year old?"

"Kind of ewww," Hermione said. "If you ask me."

"No one did," Pansy said. "And he was a perfect gentleman, unlike Zabini here, who was busy exploring his child-bride's tonsils."

"She's only one bloody year younger than me," Blaise said with irritation. Pansy crossed her arms and glared and a smirk crossed his perfect face as he added, "and she's a lot cuter than you."

"And she's a pureblood," Hermione said with false sweetness. "We all know how that matters to you."

Blaise shifted where he sat and didn't say anything. Theo was willing to take a public stand as Granger's friend but all he'd been able to bring himself to do was tell Crabbe and Goyle to shut it, she wasn't worth their time. He knew that made him a coward, and her accusation itched at his skin because he'd never even considered whether Astoria was a pureblood. She'd gone from being annoying to someone he wanted in that one moment, but he hadn't weighed her family into the assessment. She was just pretty, and funny, and bratty, and kissing her at the Yule Ball had been wonderful, if a bit wet and clumsy. He didn't want to agree that her blood status mattered when it didn't, but if hers didn't, Granger's didn't, and he knew it did. At least at school it did.

It all made him uncomfortable and unsure what he should do or say.

It was Pansy who broke the silence with a snort. "No one really gives a shite about that, Granger," she said. "Morons like Crabbe and Goyle maybe, but that's it." She nudged Blaise with her foot. "Right, Zabini?"

He looked down at his feet and mumbled something no one could quite hear and when Pansy kicked him harder, he said, "Stop it, Parkinson, or I'll turn that ugly butterfly in your hair to a slug."

It wasn't an auspicious start to the evening.

Things did get better, and by the time Hermione and Pansy had to go home the five had managed to play several games of Exploding Snap, exchange somewhat tense gossip about whether Greg Goyle really was part troll (general conclusion: trolls were smarter), and devour most of the table of sweets. "Thank Merlin we do this at your place, Harry," Pansy said. She jabbed Blaise with her elbow. "You should see the shite Hermione's parents put out."

"Apples are good for you," Hermione said. Her prim tone was spoiled by the handful of chocolate biscuits she was smuggling into her bag and Pansy eyed them with smug disdain. "Well, they are," Hermione muttered. Then she kissed Draco one last time to a round of groans and flooed away.

"Are they like this all the time," Blaise demanded. The pair had been on each other's laps, holding hands, and making gooey kissey faces at one another all night.

Harry made a face. "Yes," he said. "It's true love, or something."

"At least she's not eleven," Pansy said before she stepped into the floo and was gone.

"Thirteen!" Blaise yelled after her. "She's _thirteen._ And Krum is _old_."

"You know she can't hear you, right?" Draco said. He began to pocket some of the left over sweets. The official rule was no food in Harry's bedroom, and that meant they had to sneak it up if they wanted to stay up late and snack. By the time Sirius and Remus shooed the three of them upstairs their pockets all bulged and the two adults pretended not to notice.

"Why's he still here, anyway?" Draco asked once the door had been closed and the tell-tale steps had receded down the hall. "Since when is Zabini anyone's best friend?"

"Fuck you," Blaise said. He'd flung himself down into an old chair, sweeping his hand to push Harry's laundry to the floor, and he hunched over a little as he spoke. "It's not like I was begging for an invitation, you know. I don't need either of you. I have lots of friends."

"Like Goyle," Harry said contemptuously.

"Yeah," Blaise said. He slouched lower and pulled a crumbling biscuit out. It was half in his mouth when he added, "My mum made me come."

"Still thinks she has a chance at the Black vaults," Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes but he asked a question about Parvati, and managed to slide away from just how weird it was to be tucked up into Harry's room with Blaise-sodding-Zabini and instead talk about girls, classes, Quidditch, and how they all liked two of those and not the third.

"Snape's such a prick," Blaise said over an hour into the conversation. They'd turned off all the lights and tucked themselves into blankets, Harry on his bed and the other two on the floor, and they were all getting tired enough they had to fight to keep their eyes open. "He took two points off my essay just because he didn't like my handwriting."

Harry laughed. "If he only took two points off mine, I'd think he'd gone senile. He just hates me, no matter what I do. I could save the whole world and he'd still hate me. He hates Remus. Hates Sirius. Hated my dad."

"How can anyone hate Sirius?" Blaise asked.

"We should put a niffler in his office," Draco said.

"Nifflers only like shiny stuff," Harry said. "Not old potions ingredients."

"His hair's greasy enough its shine might attract one," Blaise said.

Harry snickered. "We can't do that to a poor niffler," he said. "Can you imagine the thing, sitting on Snape's head, disappointed? Expecting something valuable and just getting Snivellus?"

"It would be cruel," Draco agreed. He reached over and hit Blaise lightly on the arm. "You should be ashamed."

Blaise began to huff up in hurt pride before he realized it had been a joke, that he'd been included, and he mumbled something incoherent. A few more muttered comments about Quidditch slid around the room, and then all three boys were asleep.


End file.
